


The Time of Love and Rogues

by Maizeysugah



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Child Abuse, M/M, Time Turner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-29 17:47:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 98,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3905272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maizeysugah/pseuds/Maizeysugah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After fools have meddled with time and unintentionally created a more powerful and immortal Dark Lord than the Wizarding World already knew, Lord Voldemort gives himself a gift in his past, a little brother named Harry Potter so that he can learn and weild the Love Magic the infant boy had been blessed with and become the most powerful wizard in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Relative Theory

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite from my original tale. It is a lot less dark, really the way I wanted it to go but lacked the focus to do. I hope you like it, thanks for reading.
> 
> Joy

With the kiss of bitter cold seeping in through every crack, and flakes of snow gathering on the outer windowsill, it was time to make her leave. Taking a step closer to the front door, Aralias Maxwell slung her bag over her shoulder, and made sure the Time-Turner was set in place. She gripped it in her hand, warming the silver metal and fogged glass as she looked back one more time into the small bedroom she had crept from. Lit only by a candle, she could scarcely make out the silhouette of the woman and the toddler in her arms, lying stock-still on their little bed.

It was for the best. Aralias had no desire to meet the woman's brother. Morfin Gaunt would be returning soon, as his release from Azkaban loomed over their heads. "Good bye, sweet Merope," she breathed, "and good luck. May the world be a better place with you in it." Warmth, despite the frigid cold, distributed evenly throughout her squat and bulky frame. She smiled to herself, stepping out into the brisk, night air, certain she had made an impact, one that would change all things as she knew it. With a flick of her finger, the dials within the small, hourglass-shaped apparatus began to whirl.

Numbed from the wintry cold and the haul through time, Aralias adjusted her glasses while she focused on the dwelling she had parted from moments before. The ruins of the House of Gaunt stood exactly as she remembered, and she frowned, hoping for some sort of evident alteration of time. With a deep sigh, she pulled her wand free to Apparate home.

* * *

 

"This cannot be right. One detail could not cause this much damage."

Dawn rose, revealing a middle-aged man bent over a book. His head was propped on his fist, his bottom lip chewed on while he read. His fascination with history and dark Wizards had caused this blunder. How could he have been so careless to advise his colleague to slip through time and alter such a life-changing event? Clearly, his enthusiasm had gotten the better of them both.

Aralias sat quietly to his side, sipping her tea. Tears trickled down her round cheeks. "I really am very sorry. If I hadn't pushed so hard, maybe… It was the blasted Time-Turner. You know, we should never have used it. If we didn't have it, none of this could have happened. I could go back…let her die," she said raggedly through several sniffles. Her head fell against her chest, and more tears fell. "I couldn't let her die. I won't let her die. You have no idea, Julian, no idea what she's been through."

The man, recreational Historian, Julian Hubbard, turned in his seat to face the young woman. "So what you're telling me is that before you used that gadget to go back into time, Lord Voldemort was dead, long dead, defeated by a boy over ninety years ago? And somehow you and I managed to blunder that all up and change history, giving this man more power than he had in this alternate dimension you claim that you came from? So we've both effectively created some dreadful paradox that has changed our history and doomed our race of Wizards and Witches? Excuse my language, good lady, but how in the hell is that possible?"

"There's no need to be vulgar. We've somehow miscalculated, and our theory is awash. You, yourself, said that you were certain that all the Dark Lord needed was his mummy's love and he would never have become this monster. You were absolutely certain of that. Well, I saved Merope Gaunt's life, just as you asked. I spent the last three years caring for this madwoman and her potential Dark Lord son. I wrote everything down in that journal," she said, pointing to the notebook at his side. She looked through her bag once more for the thick, leather-bound book she was sure she had packed. "It's here somewhere. These damned bottomless bags…"

Julian snatched the journal up. "I never said you were lying about this. This is my penmanship, informing me that all of this is true and to believe everything you tell me. It's just a bit hard to swallow."

Resting the journal on the desk in front of him, Julian read the entry about their research and sources used to equate their theory. "And this book you can't seem to find, 'The Chosen One', by Albus Severus Potter," He inclined his head, thinking. "Is this a relative of Harry Potter's? You did say that it was Harry Potter who defeated Lord Voldemort before you changed history, right?"

"Yes, Albus Potter was one of Harry's sons. Before the time shift, Harry had been a target of Lord Voldemort's. He was the only wizard ever to survive the killing curse. He was—"

"I know who he was, " Julian interrupted, looking irritated as he flipped through more pages, grating his fingernails through his thinning hair. "He was the son of James and Lily Potter, and murdered by Lord Voldemort at the age of fifteen months. Sad tale, really…"

Aralias paled. "He died? Well, he couldn't have. That's not possible. If only I could find it. It outlines all of the details of Harry's and Voldemort's connections. Tell me, did Voldemort kill Harry's parents first? Did he murder Lily before striking Harry?"

"Well, they never found the infant's body, but he never surfaced either. Yes, I suppose Harry was taken off into the night and never seen from again after his parents were slaughtered." Julian sighed. "Obviously, we have discovered another altering in our timeline. You're saying he did not die, and that he went on to have children?"

"He went on, yes! He killed Lord Voldemort! It's very important, Julian. How could Lord Voldemort have defeated him?"

"Well, he was only a baby, my kind woman."

Aralias began to fret. "So Albus Severus Potter was never born… Maybe that's why the book disappeared?"

"The notes in this journal would have changed if that were so. No, I think you've lost it. Perhaps you left it there."

"We have to do something…" Fingering over the Time Turner, Aralias set her mind. "If I had left the book there, perhaps Lord Voldemort read it and learned from it. This is how he knew… Oh my God. I'll have to go back in time again and kill the infant, Tom Riddle. It's the only way we can bring any hope for our future."

The sound of crackling thunder penetrated the walls of the old home and flummoxed both historians. Julian reached for his wand. "Did you hear that?" he whispered. The lights went out, leaving them both in darkness. "—Lumos!—"

A flash of green light filled the room. Julian fell to his demise on the floor. Aralias gasped and cowered behind the desk, hearing footsteps. "My good lady, my Lord pays his respects. He acknowledges that you returned in time and prevented his mother's death, but I am afraid that any hope for altering the future once more is no longer of your concern."

Another blast of magic lit the den with a magnificent shade of green. The soft thud of a body dropping to the ground brought a smile to the man's lips. Moving to the woman's side, long fingers clenched around the Time-Turner that had slipped from her grasp. Placing the silver chain around his neck, the antique gadget dipped down and settled next to another Time-Turner resting on his chest.

* * *

 

Dragging herself over the floor, Merope Riddle's feet scraped along the caked dirt and fragmented shards of broken glass, remnants of last evening's meal. The distant and familiar sound that had awakened her again pricked her ears. It was coming from the outside, through the front door. All Hallows Eve had come and passed, but there was no celebration for the Gaunts. The two pure-blooded ancestors of Salazar Slytherin no longer mingled with their wizarding kind.

Quietly as she could, she turned the knob and peered out into the sunlit perfection of the sky. Her sleepy eyes brightened, glimmering as light reflected through the dull irises, and she smiled. "Good morning, sunshine," she said quietly to the world. Then a sound, a small grunting, pulled her attention downward, and her vision captured the sight of a dark bundle of cloth wiggling around on the doorstep. Her throat went dry, and her hands clawed as she knelt down and lifted the thing into her arms.

Worry flooded her veins. She stepped outside with this parcel, finding it warm and feeling it shift against her. It was crying as Tom had when he was an infant. "Shh, hush please, hush," she whispered. If this thing roused her brother, he would surely crush it with a log.

"Mummy?"

Merope gasped alarmingly, clutching the bundle to her breast. She looked down at her side, letting relief sweep through her. Large brown eyes peered up at her, and a small, long-fingered hand tugged at her housedress.

"I've found something special," she whispered with excitement, taking a step further away from the house. "We mustn't wake Morfin, Tom. Be very quiet."

As pale as starlight, the beautiful child closed his fingers around the hem of the housedress. Tom Gaunt gave his mother a curt nod and followed her into the woods. Dried leaves and twigs crunched under his bare feet, catching on the legs of his drab, tattered pyjamas.

Resting upon a fallen log, the sheer elation of this discovery began to build as Merope unravelled the thick, black cloth. Tom moved behind her, peering over her shoulder with shared enthusiasm. Through the trees, a beam of light pooled around them, igniting the brightest of green eyes either of them had ever witnessed. A shock of black hair stuck out in every direction, and a tiny hand reached up to grasp the locket hanging from her neck.

"A baby," Tom breathed in wonderment.

"She's beautiful, Tom. Oh Merlin," Merope said wistfully, trailing a finger along the baby's face and twirling it around in its thick mane of hair. Her plain, worn-out visage crinkled with glee. She flicked a bit of dried blood away from the mark on the baby's forehead, causing the infant to yelp. "She's got a little wound here. Oh, such black hair. She looks like you. She looks so much like you, Angel."

Tom reached out over his mother's shoulder. Long fingers itched to touch the porcelain skin of the baby's face. Tom was not yet four and his other hand still clung desperately to his mother's dress, but he was wise and cunning, and fascinated with this gift laid out for them. His jet-black hair fell into his eyes as he leaned in closer. The infant was wearing blue pyjamas, with the soft material spattered with blood. Tom tickled the whimpering child's chin to get its attention. "She's hungry," he whispered into his mother's ear. He ran a thumb over the pouting lips, allowing the babe to suckle on it for comfort. Feeling his own stomach constrict and growl, he imagined himself to be as cranky as this child if he were as young. "She's hungry, mummy."

Distress returned and cut into Merope's merriment. If she dared take the child indoors, its cries would surely stir Morfin from his slumber.

The sound of breaking twigs cut into the cries. Merope and Tom looked to its direction with startled expressions. There was a man watching them, cloaked and hooded, standing off to their side. Merope pulled Tom around and hugged both children against her. "Who are you?" she whimpered, frightened beyond reason by this shrouded presence.

Taking a bold step, the man lowered his hood. His hair was the colour of silver-lined clouds, long and flowing in the breeze, matching the intense irises of his eyes. He appeared under the beautiful morning light, glowing like an angel before her. His voice was soft and clear, bringing calm to the tremendously nervous woman. "There's no need to be afraid, my good lady, I am not here to harm you or the children."

The fussy youngster squirmed in Merope's embrace. The material it was wrapped in fell to the ground, wet. The man reached into his cloak and pulled his wand free. He pointed it at the infant. "His name is Harry, and he is now yours, if you will have him." With a light swish, the sodden material of the infant's pyjamas instantly dried.

"Harry," Merope repeated through a savoured breath. She could not take her eyes off of him. This child was hers now. Several coins were thrown at her feet. Tom tensed in his mother's embrace, watching the tall man take a closer step.

"As of yesterday, Harry became fifteen months old." His wand was now pointed at the small kitchen window of the hovel. "I will be returning occasionally to check on his and Tom's progress. _"–Accio book—!"_ A large, leather-bound novel sailed through the window and flew into his outstretched hand. "Love him as your own. Tell anyone who asks that he is your son, that his surname is Gaunt. No one will question this further."

The dark-haired woman with mismatched eyes nodded carefully in agreement.

The angelic man's radiant eyes moved over the setting, taking in the surrounding with a calculated look of disgust. The House of Gaunt was a shambles of a home. It was very hard to absorb that someone so great and powerful had come from such poverty. "Who else resides here? I'll need to alter their memories. Your father?"

"No," Merope replied, cupping Harry to her breast to look over the mop of hair tickling her nose. "My father is dead. My brother, Morfin, is inside. He was released from Azkaban Prison last winter, shortly after my father died. He is dangerous, sir."

This new alteration of time was of great interest to the man. It would have been easy to change so much, fill the poor woman's pockets with Galleons and slaughter the sleeping beast still residing inside the shack, but his goals did not include these things. He would alter nothing more until the order was given.

He had been promised immortality for this immense honour of serving his master. He would not muddle with another thing. A great Wizard ruled their world, in his time, and he would now learn from this new arrival. The future of Lord Voldemort would be recast from its mold, and he would be putting a hand in recreating this history.

"As I've said," he spoke, while turning toward the front door of the small house, "I will be returning from time to time, as adjustments on these children's wellbeing will be necessary. Do not interfere when I do. I will not harm them, good lady."

Merope wanted to believe him. She looked at the ground, at the shiny coins scattered around her bare feet. The cloaked man was frightening and dark, despite his pale, pointed features. Tom had been watching him from under her skirt with keen interest. His hands still clutched her dress, his breath elevated, but his eyes were set with enthral. "It's alright, Tom. He'll go soon," she whispered, watching the man disappear into the home and close the door behind him. A flash of light illuminated the kitchen window, and the babe in her arms nuzzled into her warmth. She had no idea what was happening. Her scrambled, deranged mind struggled to wrap itself around the precious gift wriggling in his arms. Heaven had finally come down to greet her, to kiss her, giving her another child from the man she so dearly loved, and selected this beautiful, dark guardian angel to watch over them. Everything was about to change for the better, she could feel it in the air.

* * *

 

Exactly four years later…

_"Bitch, get in here!"_

A crash, and the sounds of rustling and grunting filled the tiny house. Merope lifted Harry out of the kitchen chair and into her arms as she ran into the bedroom. Tensed with fear, she shook her head desperately, dropped Harry onto the bed, and wrenched Tom out of her brother's murderous chokehold.

Tom gasped and coughed as he staggered and dropped onto his bed beside the other. Of the two beds filling the small room, his was against the back wall, farthest from the door. He pulled a thin quilt over his long legs and bent them into his chest. Harry curled into him, circling his neck with shaky arms.

_"He touched my wand! Your dirty blooded spawn touched my things!"_

Merope's head swayed to each shoulder. Her hands were in front of her, held out in a plea to quiet her anxious brother.

Morfin shook out his matted hair from his maladjusted eyes and pointed to Tom. _"Nasty, nasty boy playing with my things, I'll carve him up if he touches it again_!"

Harry squirmed uncomfortably. Tom scooted closer to the other boy to hide him under the quilt. "I'm sorry, uncle," he said regretfully, hating that he was careless enough to rouse the man in his thoughtless manner, and had tripped over the night table.

"It's my fault," Merope confessed. "I asked him to get the wand for me!"

Morfin's scowling face remained centred on Tom. _"Send you to your father, we should. Unclean, useless thing, you're not our sort! Where's my breakfast, wench?"_

With a flighty squeak, Merope jolted out into the kitchen to begin preparing their meal. Morfin followed her out, already forgetting about the boys cowering on the bed.

* * *

Tom was unsure of what to do. Harry was fussing so badly, crying soundlessly in his arms. He mimicked his mother, pulling the smaller boy against his shoulder. "Shh, it's okay, baby," he whispered. He could hear heavy movement in the next room. Morfin was breaking glass and throwing furniture around in the kitchen. This did not bode well at all for anyone. Merope was a terrible defence against her brother when he got more riled than normal.

"We should go help mummy with breakfast before he comes back and corners us," Tom whispered.

Harry shuddered against him. "I don't want to."

Tom kissed the top of the boy's head. "I'll protect you."

With a deep breath, Harry climbed off of the bed. He was small for his age, with long, messy hair and knobby knees. His clothing mimicked Tom's; they were threadbare and tattered, patched with quilting material. They looked so similar, as if they truly were brothers, and only their eyes gave them away. Tom clasped their hands together with a squeeze, and bravely stepped out into the living area.

 _"There you are, boy. It's cold in here, go fetch more wood!"_ Morfin hissed at him, meeting Tom's glare. He was standing by the fireplace and rubbing his hands together.

"He hasn't eaten yet," Merope interrupted, and dropped her head the instant the words left her mouth. "I'm sorry. Tom, go."

"Pointless," the frazzled man growled in English, crossing the few steps it took to make it into the adjoining kitchen. Tom ducked to avoid his weak, swinging fist, and jaunted to the front door. "You're all pointless wastes of space!"

Wrinkled and dirty, the maddened man settled into a chair in front of the table. He dug into his plate, sloshing his beans off the sides as he ate. His thick, overly-long arms leaned on the table. He grunted his distaste through each bite, glaring at his sister and Harry with all of the hatred he had in this world.

Tom had returned with a few sticks, and threw them into the fireplace. "Come sit," Merope said nervously, holding a chair out. With a nod, Tom rounded the table and sat down next to Harry.

 _"Weak little dirty-blood—we need more wood!"_ Morfin shouted in anger. He balled his fist and swung out, connecting with Tom's chest, knocking his chair backward. The instant Tom hit the floor, Harry screamed.

_"Shut up, you little runt!"_

"Morfin, stop!" Merope cried. Panicked, she pulled Tom up to his feet. She took the boys' hands and yanked them toward the bedroom. Harry's cries were echoing throughout the tiny house. Throwing the boys inside, she slammed the door behind them.

* * *

_"You belong to me."_

Huddled together on the bed, with Harry tucked beside his body; Tom rubbed the sleep from his eyes as another chilling whimper hummed in brother's throat. He brushed the long fringe out of the trembling boy's eyes and looked out into the dark room. "Shh, it's okay, Har, you're just having a nightmare. Go back to sleep." The painfully thin and sweet-faced seven-year-old stretched his sore muscles and swung his legs off of the side.

The other bed occupying the room, their mother's, was empty.

Tom could not be sure of the time, but remembered that the sun had finally set and both he and Harry had grown sleepy, and very tired of listening to their uncle berating their mother throughout the day. They had been trapped inside of their room since breakfast. The door had been magically sealed. Hungry, thirsty, and feeling a great pressure to relieve himself, Tom risked stirring up more trouble and walked over to it to see if he could leave.

The soft shuffling sound of something coming up behind him caught his attention. "Tom?" Harry whispered, tugging on the sleeve of Tom's shirt. He was more than a head shorter than the tall boy, and was looking up at his brother with owlish eyes. "Can I go too?"

The electric shock of magic crackled under his hand as it closed around the knob. "It's still locked," Tom said sadly. Being holed up inside their bedroom was nothing new to the boys. It happened more often then they cared to consider. Merope thought it better to keep them out of sight rather than in harm's way on days such as this.

"We'll go through the window again," Harry suggested, pulling Tom away from the door. "Can we wait at the water hole till mummy wakes up?"

"Course," Tom replied. He climbed onto the bed and pushed the window glass up, feeling a cool breeze goose his flesh. "C'mere, Har, I'll lower you out. Put another shirt on first, its cold outside."

Harry rummaged through the bottom drawer of their small wardrobe, and tugged two shirts out. He tossed one to Tom. "You put one on, too." He pulled his over his head before climbing onto the mattress. Tom finished dressing, and then helped Harry onto the termite-eaten windowsill. Holding the smaller boy's hands, Tom lowered him to the ground and hopped out behind him.

"For Samhain, it's bloody cold out here," Tom hissed through chattering teeth. He tucked his hands under his arms - and froze as he glanced down at the smaller boy.

Harry's mouth hung open in awe. "You said a vularma…vulmaram…a dirty word. I'm telling mummy."

Tom was fumbling with the zip on his trousers. "It's 'vulgarity', you halfwit. And if you tell on me, I'll box your ears."

Struggling under his shirt to find the buttons, Harry bit his bottom lip in frustration. "I can't do it, and I have to go really bad!"

"Hold still, you bastard," Tom growled, reaching up under Harry's shirt. He ignored the heaving sighs of disappointment puffing like smoke through Harry's nostrils. The cold air misted their breath, and the ground beneath their feet had a thin layer of frost.

_"You're going to turn into Morfin with that talk."_

Rolling his eyes, Tom helped Harry unclasp his overalls while he hopped around in place. _"You silly goody-goody, Morfin isn't the first Parselmouth. He's so thick and dense I'm amazed he can speak any language at all."_

Harry leaned up next to a tree while he emptied his bladder, dejected. "Stop being foul, I didn't do anything to you."

The smell of an early winter was in the air. Winters in Little Hangleton were always rough for them. Standing in the copse of the woods, looking down over the small village, Tom sighed. He knew once winter arrived, he and Harry would have to spend more time indoors than outside. Their skin would pale, and their bruises would darken. The torment of living under such cramped quarters and with such a man created a zone of pure discomfort. He knew he was taking this frustration out on Harry, but he had no one else to take it out on.

"Look, I'm sorry," he said, feeling Harry snuggling against his side for warmth. He put an arm around the smaller boy's shoulder. "Are you all done? Need some help getting your overalls up?" Harry nodded. Shaking the cold numbness from his fingers, Tom threaded the straps over Harry's shirt and buckled them into place.

Now smiling, and pointing over the roof of the house, Harry watched the orange glow of the sun rising in the east. "It'll get warmer soon," he murmured. Looking on the ground with the faint light, he crouched and picked up a few rocks for skipping along the water.

Tom emulated him, searching for the flattest rocks he could find and stuffed his pockets with them. "If Morfin would stop killing all the fish in the pond we could go fishing." He shrugged as he stood upright, giving Harry a gentle push toward the path through the woods. "Or we could throw rocks at the villagers when they start moving about. Maybe we'll get lucky and hit Mr Riddle."

"I'd rather stay at the water hole," Harry said absently. He had caught a glimpse of zigzagging movement in the tall grass and followed it, leaving the path and Tom behind. "Did you see that? There's a snake." Harry loved chasing snakes. It was something he had gotten quite good at over the last year. He crouched down a bit to get a closer look. He dragged a finger along its slender body, feeling each of its scales rippling under the pad. _"Come on little snaky, I won't hurt you. See how soft I am?"_

"Leave it be," Tom recommended, popping a few berries that he had picked from the bush he was leaning on into his mouth, "might not be friendly. Morfin's probably killed all of its family."

Harry kicked at a fallen leaf, grumbling to himself. He got back onto the path, allowing Tom to lead him further into the woods. The path was narrow, winding, devoid of anything but dirt and rocks. Tree branches had been magically cut by their uncle, making the journey to and from the small pool of water they inhabited an easier journey to trek.

The cool temperature made for slow walking. As autumn came into full swing, the sorrow of being unable to swim within the water's perfect body saddened both boys. "I wish we could do something other than skip rocks every morning," Tom mused aloud. "Like… I don't know. We could make a raft and float on top of it."

"That would be fun," Harry said, looking back at him with enthusiasm. "How do you make a raft?"

Walking out into the aperture to the pond, Tom crouched down to give Harry a leg up on one of the larger boulders resting on the edge. He climbed over and sat down next to him while he reached into his pocket to dig out a few pebbles. The surface of the boulder was slick with frost. Tom's tattered trousers did little to shield him from the emanating cold against his bum. "We'd need rope and sticks. Loads of rope. Maybe you could talk Morfin into conjuring up some rope for us."

"Yeah, and he'll hang me with it." Harry shuddered and shook his head. "No thanks. Why can't mummy do it?"

Tom gave off an uncharacteristic snort. "You know she's no good at conjuring up anything. She'd probably turn us both into toads." To that point, he had ignored the magnificence of the rising sun's divine glow reflecting off of the surface of the pool. The radiance ignited the green in Harry's irises and warmed the world around him.

Harry bucked Tom with his shoulder. "You're already a toad." He did not care for Tom poking fun at their mother. Tom had made it clear long ago that he was somewhat ashamed of Merope's poor skills in spell casting. That, as a descendant of the Peverell and Slytherin bloodlines, her power was almost comparative to that of an average Witch, at best. These were merely a few of the insults spewed from their uncle's mouth on a daily basis, engrained forever in the boys' heads. If only that were the only thing that was troubling him, he might be willing to overlook it.

Throwing a small rock into the water, Tom's lip curled in a sneer. He was exceptionally frustrated. Their mother had forgotten about them again, and it was becoming something of a habit. And Harry simply worshiped her. He was so unbelievably naïve about the woman who stood by and did nothing to better their lives. "That ugly Squib couldn't even mend the hole in your shoe, Harry. What are you going to wear once it gets colder?"

"I don't know..." It was so cold already, and winter was on the horizon. Without coats or shoes, their future journeys to the village would prove difficult. Harry threw all of his stones into the pond, feeling a lot less inclined to sit there any longer. "Can we go back now? I'm really hungry."

"Course you're hungry; we haven't eaten since yesterday…" Tom helped Harry off of the boulder, and took his hand. "She should be up by now. Maybe she'll be kind enough to give us a few scraps."

 _"Where've you two scamps been hiding—trying to find your muggle father?"_ Morfin Gaunt dropped from the tree in front of the children the instant they stepped foot into the woods, scaring them both witless. Harry froze solid, watching Morfin break a switch off of a branch. Tom pushed the younger boy behind him. _"Ragged, unclean, tainted blood running through your veins, both of you. I'd just as soon snap your scrawny necks as let you back inside."_

The frightened boys tensed their muscles, preparing to scurry. They knew if they ran there would be a good chance of avoiding any punishment. Morfin rarely took chase. He was weakened by his stint in Azkaban, and more often than not, he merely enjoyed taunting the little lads with a slew of psychological cruelty. Tom could feel Harry's tiny fists clench at the hem of his shirt. Never knowing what to expect seemed the greatest terror. Morfin was unpredictable, all the same, and everything seemed to set him off.

Without warning, the switch came crashing down toward Tom. He lunged at the earth to avoid it. Harry tumbled over him, landing on his back.

 _"Runt!"_ Morfin growled, reaching out to take Harry by the arm. _"Dirt-veined, Muggle's boy. Can't even grow like a normal child."_

Tom gripped the man's grubby, threadbare trousers to stop him. He was breathless, his eyes watered, and his lip bled from hitting the dirt floor, but he mustered up any bit of courage he had to plead for the small boy's safety. "Please let him go. Please, Uncle." His own words boiled his blood. Pleading to Morfin was the hardest thing he ever did. He wished more than anything that Morfin would shrivel up and die. Maybe when he was bigger and given his own wand, that very thing might just happen. "Don't hurt him, please!"

It was doubtful that Morfin or Harry heard him. Harry yelped as the hard slap across his face knocked his head to the side. Morfin was a heartless, cruel madman, intent on teaching to them how useless they truly were. His hand clamped down over Harry's slender throat, forcing him into silence. _"Hush yourself, little runt. Hush now."_

Lifted off of his toes while Tom scrambled to remove his uncle's fingers, Harry's world tightened and darkened. The little boy's eyes were wide with fear. He clawed at the hand wrapped around his neck. Dimmer and dimmer the sunshine went, as if blotted from the sky. Everything became dark and quiet, until the ground rushed up and hit him in the face.

 _"You half-Muggle filth, both of you get inside before someone sees you_."

Harry gulped in lungfuls of dust and air. Dirt had matted with the tear streaks on his cheeks. Seething with anger, Tom lifted him up. This was his brother, his only friend, and he was Morfin's favourite punching bag. Harry's small size made him an easy target for their sociopath of an uncle… but someday, he would pay for what he had done.


	2. The Fallen Angel

 

 

 

The cold fall rain pelted the tiny windows of the little hovel-of a home and darkened the evening skies. Enthralled to pieces with the woman nestled on the edge of their bed, the two inky-haired boys lay perfectly still on their bellies with their heads propped on their fists, staring owlishly up at her. Lost in her own reverie, the tale she wove to them was long and winding; words that meant so little to some, but everything to them.

"…and sweet Lady Merope rushed back to her handmaiden, explaining to her that there was the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes upon in wait of her. They dashed off to the swimming hole to wash, and dressed her in her finest frocks, and…" The woman paused, waking from her trance-like state and rested the book she was holding on her lap. One of the boys had fallen into a fit of giggles. "What exactly has made you so silly tonight, Harry?"

The smaller boy shifted upward, away from the other. "He's tickling me," he said, and collided with Tom's shoulder as he crashed back into him.

The larger boy gasped, his cheeks turning pink. "Am not. He was giggling, so I gave him a kick."

Harry shook his head. "He didn't kick me, he tickled me…"

"Enough," the woman said, feeling bothered. "No tickling, giggling, or kicking tonight, or we can finish the story another time." The smaller child frantically shook his head and whispered an apology. Tom held a finger up to his mouth and shushed him. A large candle flickered behind their mother, casting her shadow along the wall. It impended over the children, whose feet were kicking around in mid air in wait for her to continue.

Pleased with the silence, Merope Gaunt lifted the book back up to her nose to continue. She was unable to read, but that had not mattered. The words came from within. "So Lady Merope tiptoed away from the House of Gaunt in the most sneaking of manners and ran to meet up with the handsome young man awaiting her arrival at the end of the path. This man, with flowing black hair and the most beautiful smile, sat upon a white horse holding his hand outstretched to her. He lifted her up in a single sweep, kissed her full on her supple cherry lips, and carried her off into the sunset. No more would she be held captive by the evil, wicked Lord of the Manor, and they both lived happily ever after."

The larger of the two children sneered with distaste. "Why do they always kiss?" He stretched out over the bedding, dragging his wiggling fingers up Harry's side. The uncontrollable urge to giggle again bubbled within Harry's throat. "And where are _we_ in this tale? Did you leave us with Morfin?"

"Tom, it's only a story." Merope closed the book and set it on the night table behind her. "Now tuck in, both of you. Harry, get under the quilt, tonight will be very cold."

"But it's still raining… I'm scared," Harry said, peeping at Tom out of the corner of his eye. Night was Harry's least favourite time of the day. So many scary things happened at night… in dreams. He rubbed at his scar, keeping a decent stare locked with his mother. "You said… er… you promised it wouldn't rain all night."

Tom flopped onto his back, annoyed. "You're such a baby, Harry. A little rain never hurt anyone."

Merope bent over and rubbed her swollen ankles to avoid any further eye contact. "I'll be just across the room, darling. If anything frightens you, just call out to me."

Tom sat back up with a start. He was frustrated over this stupid story his mother read aloud nearly every night. The tall tale swam heavily around in his head. The lies… the fantastical lies Merope told were astounding. He could see it in her eyes with every spoken word. "Why does your side of the story always end so happily when we all know how it really ends? And why do you let Mr Riddle tell all of those lies about us to everyone in the village? Don't you see the way they look at us, mummy? What good is magic if you don't use it to punish him for making everything so difficult for us?"

Merope stood from her chair to tuck the children in. Her unfaltering smile gave Harry warmth, but hardly convinced Tom of anything. "Magic is a sacred thing. It must never be abused. Look what happened to your uncle when he flaunted the power so openly. He got three years in Azkaban. Wizards put him there, Tom, not muggles. A Wizengamot decided he would be punished. I won't risk be taken away because of the way one man spews his ugly words. They're only words. Morfin should never have cursed Mr Riddle."

"He got what was coming to him. Should have been worse… he deserves to die," Tom countered. "Just like Morfin. They both deserve to die."

Ignoring the malice in Tom's expression, Merope centred on Harry. "Get to sleep." She kissed his forehead and brushed the hair out of his bright green eyes. "Remember, I'm right over here," she whispered.

Harry closed his eyes and tried not to concentrate on the thunderous booming or thrumming beat of rain water plunking into various pots and pans scattered throughout the tiny home.

"Go to sleep, Harry. I've got you," Tom whispered to him, wrapping a warm arm around his tummy. And as the small boy reluctantly drifted off into the state of dreams, he heard another, stronger voice hissing to him in a tone that chilled him to the very bone.

_" You belong to me, Harry… I own you."_

* * *

_"Help me!"_

Harry clapped his hands over his ears as he sat up in bed. The deafening screams filled his heart with terror. His bottom lip jutted out and tears began to roll down his cheeks.

The morning sun had come all too soon. Light penetrated through his clenched eyelids, making it impossible to shut any of his senses out. Was it another dream? Had he imagined the miserable cries for someone's aid?

_" Please help me!"_

No, it was real. It was so frightening, being roused from a deep sleep to the sounds of screaming. The evident pain and torture this poor creature must have been enduring could not be ignored. Harry dropped to the floor, shaking with fright, and made his way toward the source.

" _Hurts so much…dying! Please, stop this!"_

It was coming from outside. The wails were so close. With his heart stuck in his throat, Harry shuffled unsteadily to the door. It was right outside, just beyond the barrier. His small hand clamped around the rusted knob and turned it. As the door swung open, a hiss filled his ears and the cold brush of death grazed the flesh of his cheek. Harry leapt back in horror, his hand pressed hard against the spot on his face where something had touched it. His eyes caught sight of the thing that had called to him; an adder nailed to the centre of the door.

Pathetically, its body slithered in effort to dislodge itself, chipping the flecking paint from the weather-warped wood in an almost comical manner. If not for the fact that the creature was dying in such agony, Harry might have laughed. Instead, his stomach lurched with empathy.

Turning to him, the snake flicked its tongue and bared its fangs in retaliation.

_" What can I do?"_Harry asked it while wringing his small hands together. He was barely tall enough to reach the poor thing. He moved over to the table and dragged a chair back to the door. _" I can help you if you tell me what to do."_

_" Pull me off of the nail, set me free."_

Harry climbed up on the chair and took the adder into his hands. He crushed his eyes shut and gave the sleek body a yank, and pulled it away from the nail. The adder immediately coiled around his wrists, sinking its fangs into the flesh of his hand. Sucking in a great breath and with tears springing forth in his eyes, Harry dropped the snake on the ground.

The adder struggled to move quickly through the muddy copse. Harry clutched his wrist protectively, covering the punctures with the tips of his index and middle fingers. He whimpered, feeling as frail and helpless as the snake. _" No venom_," the adder hissed with a dying breath to still the boy's worries as it entered the field of grass at the edge of the woods. _" No venom for a good boy."_

Harry ran back into the bedroom and dove onto his mother's bed. Merope stirred, wrapping her arms protectively around his shaking form. "What's the matter, darling?" she asked him, with worry laced in her sleepy voice.

Harry showed her the wound and told her through a wrack of sobbing about the snake.

Tom sat on the edge of his bed rubbing his eyes. His morning frustration swelled within. Harry was, once again, garnering all of his mother's attention, whimpering and going on about something or another. "Harry, you are the absolute limit. What happened?"

"…but no venom, it said? Oh, Harry, it'll be alright." Merope swiped at the spilled blood on his hand with a tongue-dabbed piece of her nightgown and stood him on his feet.

"Let me see," Tom growled, now standing at Harry's side. He snatched the boy's hand into his to look over the bite. Two large holes below his left thumb seeped with fresh blood.

"Tom, don't be so rough with him," Merope warned him. "Harry is far more delicate than you are."

"Whatever…" Pulling Harry out of the room, Tom dragged him outside through the open door, shoving the blocking chair out of the way. "What did I tell you?" he asked firmly. He was leaning up against a birch tree fumbling with the drawstring on his pyjama bottoms. They were far too small for such a growing boy, but it was that or nothing, and it was growing so cold. "Stop playing with the blasted snakes around here. They don't like us."

"I wasn't playing with it," Harry snapped, sneering at the back of Tom's head. "I pulled it off a nail on the door."

"Hmm, is that what the chair was for?" Tom raised his arms up to stretch. He tipped his head back, letting the morning sun warm his skin. "Morfin nails them there for a reason, idiot. Next time you'll think twice about rescuing something, right? You should have let it die."

Harry sighed. "I think it did die."

Tom shrugged. "Good." He walked over to a thatch of wild brush, parting the leaves and stems with his hands. His mind was no longer on snakes. He was eager to begin working on the raft he and Harry had blueprinted over the last week. "C'mere, look what I got."

Harry watched him lift and sling a large coil of rope over his shoulder. Thick and heavy, it nearly toppled Tom's sylph frame backward. "How did you get it?" Harry enquired with wonder, and glanced over to the enormous pile of sticks they had been collecting.

"Don't ask questions," Tom bit back. "But it's far too thick to tie the sticks together with. We'll have to pull the threads apart by hand and braid them back together so they're flatter." He lugged the rope over to his and Harry's garden fortress; a crude and crumbling L-shaped, waist-high wall made of rocks and cement. The boys liked to hide behind it when the sun got too hot, or the wind got too cold on their backs. "How's your hand? Do you think you can help me?"

Harry clenched and unclenched his fist, feeling a dull ache in the meat of his hand tighten the surrounding muscle. "I think so," he said, joining Tom on the dirt floor.

* * *

Merope looked over her supplies with a furrowed brow. The meal she had planned, had already begun had not been thought out as well as she remembered. She was certain she had purchased everything at the general store the day before, but something was missing.

Throwing the tiny kitchen window open, she spotted Tom and Harry in their garden fortress, tying sticks together. "Tom, I need you to take Harry and go into town for me," she called, waving at the boys to get their attention. The bright overhead light of meridian-noon blinded her vision momentarily, but she was certain she saw a scowl slowly contort her son's sweet visage. "Did you hear what I said, Tom? Take Harry, go into town and purchase a loaf of bread for me. I've got some coins here."

Sitting on his knees, wearing nothing more than tattered knee pants, the tall and slender boy with shiny black hair shook his head at the woman. "Are you mad?" He exhaled a hot breath, looking up from the ropes he was braiding together. "Go into town - and I have to take the baby with me? Can't you see I'm busy? Why can't you go?"

Harry's eyes shifted over to Tom, narrowed to slits.

"I can't very well leave the stew on the stove and watch Harry at the same time while getting a loaf of bread from town, can I? You're a big boy now, Tom. Come up from there and get these coins before I tan your hide!" she scolded, and thrust her hand out through the open window.

"I know the way!" Harry shouted, dashing from his spot on the ground to gather the pennies Merope had tossed out. The messy curls of inky hair bounced around his pretty face while he hopped up and down in front of the window to garner his mother's attention. "I know the way, mummy! I can go by myself!"

Miffed, Tom ran up beside Harry and snatched his hand. "Course. You'll get lost and eaten up by snakes—come on!" Nearly yanking the boy's arm from its socket, Tom dragged him away from the window and marched them toward the dirt path that led to the main road.

* * *

"What are you filthy little rogues doing back here?"

Tom gestured hastily to Harry's pocket, ignoring the old maid glaring at them from behind the counter of the bakery. The scent of baking bread and the spice of hot cross buns wafted through the air, calming his nerves. He was not going to let this old bat get the better of him. "Give me the coins," he whispered. The wind outside had severely picked up, and greying clouds rushed in overhead to cover the blue skies. Tom hated the village, hated the inhabitants that ran the shops, and hated being thought of as common or anything less than anyone else.

Little Harry was blissfully oblivious to the torments. People, mostly the elderly women in town, tended to be drawn in by his small size and startling green eyes, overlooking the drab wear of his clothing or lack of shoes. He always got the looks, the smiles, the pinches to his cheeks. Tom hadn't minded that. He detested that their father practically owned the whole town. That everyone suspected that he and Harry were his children, but no one wanted to admit that the man was trash; abandoning them, letting them live like rodents under a bridge. Tom hated them all.

"I asked you a question, boy. Are you here to purchase, or just trying to avoid the rain?" The squat woman's face was pinched with irritation. Her lips were slashed tightly together and her eyes read with piteous distrust. "You and your little bastard brother get what you come for and get out."

Tom dropped the coins on the counter. "Loaf of bread," he said, holding back the urge to hop over the counter and shove his fist up her nose. "Wrap it; it looks like it's going to rain."

With a harrumph, as if this lower form of life could dictate how she ran her business, the woman scowled as her nose turned up to the ceiling. "I only wrap things for good people of the village. Maybe if you run very fast, you can make it home without getting soaked."

"It is truly honourable of you, woman, to speak to this poor child as if he were beneath your heated words. Do as he says: Wrap the goddamn bread up."

Tom turned around, having not noticed the tall and cloaked figure standing in the dark shadow of the shop before. The woman behind the counter huffed with annoyance and fret while tying string around the parcel covered loaf. The man stepped into the light of the darkening room and lowered his hood. His hair was shaken out to flow in wisps over his shoulders; long and silvery-white. "Do you typically speak to all patrons in such a manner?"

"Well I never," the woman exclaimed, thrusting the now wrapped package into Tom's hand.

The man leaned over the counter, taking her by the scruff of her bodice. "I'm quite sure you haven't, you old cow. If you ever speak to that boy again with nothing but pure esteem, I'll carve the eyes out of your head."

The woman gulped. "Get out – the lot of you."

A violent smirk curled the man's lip. He released her and placed the hand on Harry's shoulder. "I have a carriage out back. Let me take you home before the rain comes."

Harry looked up smiling at him. "Does it have loads of horses attached?"

"No thanks," Tom said over him, taking Harry's hand to pull him away from his grasp. He shoved his body against the shop door and yanked it back. He and Harry stepped into the street, feeling the weight of the man's attention looming over them. "Keep moving with me, don't look back," he told his brother. Something was wrong. This strange-looking man was not from the village, but his eyes were keen with Tom's interest in mind.

* * *

The long walk worried Tom to no end. The man was now in pursuit, driving his carriage behind them at a slow pace. Two large horses pulled the fancy carriage the length of the road. If only they could make it to the woods without trouble, they would be safe. Harry kept looking back with wish at the horses; two enormous black stallions in perfect trot, stepping over the cobblestones with timed grace while the man steering them along smiled a toothy grin.

Tom focused on his frazzled nerves. Perhaps he imagined the way the pointy-faced man was staring at him, or how he smiled so uncouthly at Harry. He could be a pervert, or one of those people who abduct children and sell them into slavery. There were so many horrible explanations fluttering around in his head at the moment. He had to protect himself and Harry, no matter what.

They reached the entrance of the woods. Tom heaved a great, thankful sigh. The sounds of clomping hooves had trailed off minutes back. The man, it seemed, had given up chase. "He's gone," he told Harry as he looked around behind them. "If you ever see him again, I want you to run away… got it?"

"Course, Tom," Harry mumbled, wondering if he should tell the older boy about how the carriage had simply vanished into thin air before his eyes a few moments before. It had simply ceased being there, giving the boy a fright, but he was sure Tom would never believe him.

A crackling _pop_ filled the air and resonated like thunder. Both boys turned, gasping, wondering if perhaps a stray bolt of lightning had hit a tree somewhere close.

The silvery-haired man was now in front of them, having come from nowhere. "Where are your mother and uncle, Tom?" he asked the boy, taking a threatening step closer. "Do they always send you off to town alone?" He was holding a wand and it was pointed at Harry.

"What do you want?" Tom shouted, pushing Harry behind him. "Leave us alone!"

Harry was beginning to understand the fright Tom was experiencing. This was not Morfin, but still another man. No man they had ever met had ever been kind to them. This magic he was using was nothing he had ever seen.

The man was smiling at them again. "So untrusting … That's good. Don't you remember me?"

How did this Wizard know his name, and what did he want with them? _"When I say so, I want you to run back to the house ,"_Tom whispered to Harry, giving his hand a comforting squeeze. He had no desire to find out the reason for this union, and he certainly did not remember ever meeting him before.

Another loud _pop_ sounded behind them. Tom whirled around, seeing a tall, hooded figure standing so dangerously close. The blood drained from his face. They would never make it. These men were coming out of the woodwork for God knows what reason, intent on keeping them from running. Taking a deep breath, he knew he had to do something. _" I'm going to try and stall them. Run away as fast as you can, Harry!"_

_"_ Not so fast _,"_ warned the man behind them. Hidden behind layers of thick cloth, his hand reached out and clamped around Tom's wrist. "Harry's going to run, Malfoy. Do not allow this." The long, spidery fingers that had slipped out from under his lengthy sleeve were as white as snow.

Tom's breath hitched at the frightening sight. "Run, Harry!"

The silvery-haired man dug his heel into the ground and bolted toward the smaller child who had taken off in a sprint. He quickly caught up, grabbed Harry around the waist, lifting him into his arms and propped him on his hip. Catching his breath, he laughed. "Already so fast… You're just a tiny little thing, aren't you?" he commented, giving the boy a small shake. He turned to the other shrouded man, shrugging. "Look at this wild hair."

Harry groaned out and clamped a hand over his forehead. He collapsed against the form with pain-filled whimpers puffing through his lips. So much pain. They were going to die, he was sure.

"Take him deeper into the woods. I don't want anyone to hear their cries," the other ordered, gesturing to the leafy shelter of trees beside them. Tom could hardly move. His body felt weak, drained of all energy. They had caught Harry. They were taking them further into the woods; they didn't want anyone to hear them scream.

The tall, hooded man roughly pulled Tom along with him as he closed the distance between his acquaintance and Harry. They were now standing in a darkened patch of the forest, shielded from any outsider's vision. He reached out, ghosted a caress along the smaller boy's cheek in a loving manner, ignoring Harry's trembling recoil. "He was so lovely, even then. Such a beautiful, sweet boy."

"You remember him now? I mean, then, as a child…?"

The hooded man nodded. "I do now, Draco."

Draco smiled, impressed. "So you were right… So I assume that you remember this moment now, my Lord?"

"Yes," he said.

"Does it go well?" he hoped.

The hooded man shook his head. "No. Get it over with."

Tom watched the silvery-haired man rest down on a stump and situate Harry over his lap. The boy was openly crying; scared beyond belief of these terrifying presences, and his scar was throbbing in pain. Yanked closer toward them, Tom stumbled over a pile of twigs and landed on his hands. The loaf of bread tumbled away. He looked up into Harry's pleading eyes, wanting to console him, to hush his cries and wipe away his tears. "It's going to be okay, baby, stop crying," he implored, hating that he and Harry were so young, so weak and inexperienced in magic, having a mother who should have been out looking for them - but had most likely drifted off into another daydream instead.

Both men were now huddled around Harry, rolling the boy's sleeve up while holding him tight around the waist. The sudden sharp point of a dagger glimmered in a beam of sunlight. "I'll hold his arm steady," one of them slurred in a high-pitched, cold voice while he pulled on a pair of dragon-hide leather gloves. Harry was bravely fighting for his release. "Harry, please try and calm yourself. I need you to remain still. It'll only hurt for a moment."

Draco lowered the blade. "Where do I make the cut?" he said coolly, gripping the child tightly against him.

A bony finger ran along the crook of Harry's outstretched arm. "Right here, in a 'V'. It'll scar."

"Tom!" Harry sobbed loudly. He was nearing hysterics, hiccoughing and wailing as the dagger grazed over his flesh. A gloved hand covered his mouth to quiet him as the blade began to carve into the skin. Harry emitted a muffled scream, and Tom leapt to his feet.

"Please—no!" he cried, feeling the painful press of that hand drop over his shoulder and shove him back down to the ground.

The hooded man produced a phial from his pocket. He held it under the knife wound, gathering the blood dripping off of Harry's elbow. The yellowish liquid sloshing around inside began to swirl and smoke. The colour brightened, and almost glowed red. The man turned to look down at the growling boy at his feet. "Get up," he told him with a firm voice, and held the phial out. "Drink this in one gulp and we'll let the little boy go."

Tom could see the man's eyes from beneath the hood. They were as red as the blood leaking from Harry's arm. _He was a monster_. "And what if I don't?" Tom cried, taking the phial into his hand.

Both men shared an unctuous look. The monster cupped Harry's chin, lifting his head up high enough for Tom to see how frightened he was. "This poor creature could hardly handle another bloodletting. Don't make me force you to drink it. I do not wish to ever know the feeling of being dominated."

"What is it?" Tom asked him, staring in horror at the small glass receptacle. "Will it hurt?"

"It'll…" The man stumbled over his words. He did not know. Strangely enough, the memory of this seemed to cloud up at this very point in time. As the memories of time before this had flooded into his head, they idled now, drawing to it a revelation of sorts. "Most curious… I believe that any remembrance of this event must be carried out in this time before it becomes solidified in my head."

Draco spoke in a low voice. "Make him drink it quickly, my Lord." He was mopping at the cut with a handkerchief while Harry slumped in his arms to suck on his thumb. "We need to take Harry home. He's a lot more fragile than we suspected. He's got snake bites and bruises all over him."

Lord Voldemort raised a hand to his chin. The tip of his finger traced the line of his pursed lips. His mind worked over this troubling matter. After a bit of a pause, he said, "Yes, I see it now… Morfin was a cruel man. But they'll learn from this experience, Malfoy. It'll make them strong." His mind was set. He detached himself from these two children as if they were strangers to him. He had to.

Turning his attention back on Tom, he lowered his hood. The man was completely hairless, as white as a ghost, with slits for nostrils and crescents as pupils in his eyes. He truly was a monster. "Drink."

With a horror-filled gasp, Tom tipped the vial of blood into his mouth and swallowed it whole.

Lord Voldemort gripped Tom by the arm as he staggered to remain standing, feeling the contents of the powerful liquid burn through his insides and penetrate every part of his being. Both of them closed their eyes, letting their heads loll around to adjust to the odd sensation. It wasn't painful, Tom realised. It was more of a soothing narcotic than anything else, streaming through his veins as if drinking a glass of warmed milk. Tom dropped to his knees as he watched the hooded man step away from him and remove one of his gloves.

"I do believe it worked. We shall see," he said, raising a single finger to Harry. He pressed it, wavering, against the skin on the little boy's cheek.

Nothing happened.

Harry was staring up at him in fearfulness with his thumb trapped behind his front teeth. Lord Voldemort dislodged it and kneeled before him, bringing the tiny hand to his lips. "You did very well, Harry. We're going to release you now so that your whore of a mother can clean the wound and take care of you." The fiend lifted the child up and set him on his feet. Harry immediately ran to Tom.

"What I don't understand," Draco said while he flattened the wrinkles on his robes, "is why those two could touch before. They were definitely holding hands."

Tom was listening to everything, soaking it all in. These two men spoke about them as if they had known them forever. It made no sense.

"It's quite simple, really. Tom's soul is still intact. He has not yet murdered. Once he kills, the bond between him and Harry - that _Love Magic_ curse - would then recognise its predator, hence my inability to physically touch the other one. But we have repaired this. There will be nothing between Harry and me now."

Draco nodded. "I see. Well, I'm sure you'd like to be getting back, my Lord. I'll wipe the children's memories and take them home."

Lord Voldemort agreed, returning a nod.

"No…" Tom was aghast. He did not want to lose this revelation, this extraordinary encounter, no matter how peculiar it was. "Don't wipe my memory."

With a mirth-filled chortle, the Dark Lord smiled down at the boy. "I'm afraid I can't have you learning everything too quickly. Knowledge is power, child, but learning it for yourself holds the true force behind it. Don't worry though, your destiny waits. You and Harry are yet too weak to know of this magic. You, Tom, must learn more about love. It does not flow through you as naturally as it does with Harry. He is the key to unlocking this great mystery trapped in your mind. He holds a part of you inside of him. You must protect him; keep him with you at all times. You will come to understand this later… This is my hope."

"But how will I know this is you wipe my memory?" Tom said, pleadingly. Harry was coiled around his thin frame, sobbing against his bare chest.

Switching the dials on the Time-Turner slung around his neck, the Dark Lord acknowledged him once more. "That is exactly why your memory must be cleansed. It is not to know, but to feel. I do not yet feel it inside of me. You care, yes, and your heart beats for this boy, but the purity I seek remains hidden. You do not know the true meaning of love."

Tom clutched Harry against him, catching sight of Draco closing the distance between them. "Why do I need love?" he blurted. He wanted so many questions answered. He was running out of time. Never before had he met someone so unique, so knowledgeable of things that he was so heavily sheltered from.

_" Because, you blind fool,"_Voldemort hissed, and flicked the dials to return to his time, _"Love is the most powerful magic of all."_

Tbc…

 


	3. A Little Boy's Crush

Summer 1940

Under a brilliant blue sky, with his eyes closed in peaceful reverie and his fingers gently stirring ripples along the surface, Harry laid stretched out on the float that he and Tom had made nearly six years back. It remained stationary in the centre of the water hole and had been mended over a hundred times. One long leg dangled over the edge, the other was bent up and swaying from side to side. Harry sighed with content. Tom would be returning within the day and nothing in the world meant more to him than that.

It was times like this - the quiet, the warmth surrounding him that kept his meaningless existence stable. The anticipation of his own impending tenure at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry crept very close. He wondered if Morfin would slaughter all of the owls that tried to deliver his letter as he had done with Tom's, and whether the tall and long-bearded, elderly man in the eccentric robes would come to deliver it to him, too.

As much as it frustrated and hurt Harry, he did not blame Tom for wanting to go and further his limited education. They had never been to school before. There were a handful of instances, Harry could recall, when Muggles had dared to step foot onto the property and inquire about Tom's and his schooling. It was unthinkable to allow. Morfin had threatened them with violence, and Merope had assured them that she, herself, was educating their needs.

No matter how uneducated they were, the need for infant school never seemed to become a problem for either boy. As if magic itself catered to their disadvantages, everything just came together all at once. Like on a warm summer day over three years back, without cause or reason, Tom had looked up at the front of the village pub, The Hanging Man, and realised that he could read the sign. Harry could read it, too. There was no explanation for this, but Merope had thought it might have something to do with the tiny (and imaginary) elves living within the cracks of their home. Nonetheless, several unexplainable occurrences were always blamed on these mystifying creatures.

His bent leg slowly slipped and fell into the cool water of the pool. His mind wandered off, unable to focus on any one real thing. Tom, Morfin, the village, Mr Riddle's wicked glare and the sharp contrast of his beautiful horse… Harry had grown to loathe the village below. He was not like the other boys his age, or even Tom; he was small, sweet-faced, and waif thin, and everyone took liberties in pointing that out. And the fact that he was as blind as a bat did little to help his pitiable self-esteem. He had taken up working along side his mother in the village for pocket money. He saved every penny, and having nearly enough to purchase a pair of spectacles, he declined putting himself through another minute in town without the protection of his big brother. On such a wondrous day as today, he chose to drift instead… to drift and dream.

_"Eh, runt..."_

Unsure of whether he had fallen asleep or if Morfin was up to his old tricks, Harry sat up with a start and nearly tumbled off of the raft. He pulled his knees into his chest, hugging them as he gazed around the perimeter of the pond. "Morfin?" he called, feeling a cool chill trickle down the length of his spine. "Just lay off, alright?"

The sun had already set. The darker it grew the more perilous the woods became for Harry. His poor vision and sociopath-of-an-uncle made every obstruction around him a trap. He dove into the water, abandoning the raft to reach the shore and head inside in wait for Merope's return from town. He grabbed his hanging breeches off of the twig he hung them on and stepped into them. There was something out there – something was off.

_"And where do you think you're going, little baby?"_

Without turning to see where the man was in proximity to him, Harry prepared himself to run. "I didn't do anything, Morfin, leave me alone." He moved forward, reaching out to part the branches that were seemingly growing and stretching out to cover the passage. These obstacles were not there earlier in the day. Was this even the path? Harry was confused, disorientated from the water dripping into his eyes and the taunting words filling his ears.

" _There's nowhere a’ run to, dirty-blood. Can't get through the woods on ya own. Where's ya mean ol’ brother when ya need him, hmm?"_

Harry's heartbeat had escalated to astounding heights. For the most part, Morfin ignored him altogether. He was not worthy of normal attention, or the strange, eerily-feeling-notice he gave his sister every so often. Harry hated any and all interest Morfin gave either of them. The man was not stable.

"Just leave me alone!"

He put his back to one of the larger trees, feeling its rough bark scratch against his damp skin. This really was the worst time to get caught. His scar was prickling, Tom had not yet arrived. Merope was away. There was no one to stop this.

Out of nowhere, something hit Harry hard across the face. He pushed away from the tree and ran; the other hand outstretched in front of him to drive back the branches scraping along his skin. A flash of red light hit a tree, close to his head. "Stop it," he whimpered, finding little breath left in his lungs.

Now on the path, Harry ran as fast as he could in order to put enough distance between him and any sound behind him. There was shouting up ahead and a loud rustling to his side. His heavy panting muffled all sound. There was someone standing at the entrance to the copse; a tall silhouette with their arm outstretched and brandishing a wand. "No!" he screamed, throwing himself back to slow his momentum as the dark figure took chase after him.

An arm threaded around his waist, hoisting him off of the ground. "Stop—I've got you." The wand, outstretched and shaking was pointing over his shoulder. He craned his neck, spotting Morfin screeching to a halt on the path behind him. "Stay back! If you even think about frightening him again, I'll… I'll hex your face off!"

It was Tom. Tom was home. Harry threw his arms around the boy, clutching him with all the strength that he had. He was home, he was finally home. Everything would get better now.

 _"I was only playing with the little scamp, but now ya gone and done it, you pointless lump."_ 　Morfin raised his wand to the ready and Harry winced in reaction. He felt Tom take a huge breath and tense up.

"Oh, there you are," from behind Tom, the familiar wisp of a voice called out into the darkness. "You're home, angel!"

Tom did not take his eyes off of Morfin. His wand, his breathing was now steady. Hurried footsteps drew closer. Harry exhaled a great sigh of relief, watching Morfin duck and flee into the woods. It was only then when Tom lowered his wand and turned to face his mother.

Nearly tripping over the large trunk blocking their path, Merope scurried around it and took both boys into her arms. "I've been waiting all day to see you. My baby is home… My first born baby. Look how big you are! And so strong! You look so handsome in those robes, Tom."

Tom was still wearing his school robes, and he had, as Harry shockingly noted, grown taller than Morfin.

Absently, Tom leaned into his mother's hug before backing up a step. Harry was now wrapped firmly around his mother's torso while she petted his hair. Both he and Merope blinked owlishly at the handsome young man.

The hapless woman cleared her throat and tipped her head. She was so proud of her boy. "How is school, darling?" With her eyes staring off in different directions and her dull, heavy face covered in charred ash, Tom swallowed hard to keep the bile from rising in his throat. The thick moss covering the outer walls of their home had grown thicker, the grimy windows grimier. The house as a whole was nothing more than a shack, in needing of something very big to knock it over.

Tom gripped Harry by the arm and, pulling him away from her, gave his mother a forced smile. "I'm all sweaty. I had to walk from Greater Hangleton to get here and drag that blasted trunk behind me. We can talk tomorrow, mummy." He took another step back as she came closer. He yanked Harry back to his side. "You look worn out. Go rest, we'll be in bed shortly."

Merope's expression contorted from sheer pride to being wounded as she nodded and made her way to the front door. Harry glanced up at the taller boy with pursed lips. "That wasn't very nice. She really missed you."

"I didn't hear a 'thank you' for saving your bloody life either. Whatever, c'mon," Tom growled, jerking Harry out of place to make haste toward the pond. His fingers fumbled with the buttons on his robes. He pulled them off and folded them neatly over his arm. "I got top marks again," he said snottily, as they entered the opening to the pond and he kicked off his shoes.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You haven't gotten your results back yet, liar." He watched Tom situate his clothing over a branch of a tree, tucking and adjusting them to hang just so. There were strange differences about Tom that Harry had suddenly noticed. Little hairs had grown on his legs, and his silken voice had somewhat deepened. He watched him stepping out of his shorts. More hair… down on his nethers, under his arms; it was everywhere! With a snort of embarrassment for the poor soul, Harry tossed his breeches on the tree and dove back into the pond.

Tom plunged in behind him and broke the surface with a shiver. The cold rush of water attacked every nerve in his body. Harry was in the centre, already lounging on their make-shift raft. As he swam toward it, he wondered if it could still hold both of them. "I don't need them," he said, propping his arms on the edge to look at Harry, "All of my teachers told me. I'm the brightest Wizard they've come across in a long, long time."

Harry raised an eyebrow at this. "Well, I still think you're a right totty - no matter what they say."

"Budge over." Tom pulled himself onto the raft and collapsed next to Harry, grinning. It was painfully jagged on his back, but he didn't care. All that mattered was he was home, spending some quiet time with the one person in the world that he cared for.

Harry could not help but giggle. He was so excited to have someone to talk to again. "So, what do you do at this school besides get top marks?" he asked him, turning on his side to face him.

"I've done other things…" Tom's lips curled upward with a mixture of boastfulness and embarrassment. "I've had sex."

"What? You have not!" Harry wasn't actually sure what sex was. It was an act of some sort; something men and women did in private, behind closed doors. Up until then, at this moment, he hadn't thought of it as anything other than a vulgar word. "I thought only adults did that stuff."

Tom shrugged innocently. "They talk about it all the time in school. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about."

There was a long pause while Tom waited for Harry to question him further on the matter. The experience itself had been awkward, unpleasant, and downright messy, but now he knew firsthand what sex was all about. Irritated at Harry's dumbfounded gawping, he huffed. "It was fantastic. She's sixteen and in Slytherin, fit, but as dim as they come."

"Sixteen? But you're only thirteen!" Harry cried, aghast.

"Don't you dare tell mummy," Tom warned.

He tried not to show it, but Harry was captivated. This school sounded very iniquitous and frightening all of a sudden. "Are you going to do it again?"

 _No._ 　"Course, loads of times. It appears that I'm very good at　 _that,_ 　too."

Harry groaned, unimpressed. "Oh, yeah, course you are."

"Anyway," Tom said, needing to change the subject as fast as possible. It seemed strange talking about the subject of sex with Harry. He wished he hadn't told him. He was completely embarrassed by it, and felt like a fool. "I've been so busy doing research on our bloodlines. The Restricted Section is difficult to get a pass for, but I've managed to squeak in a few times. You just can't take in near enough information in one or two sittings. When you get to school, I expect that cheeky smile of yours to help me get inside more often."

"Sure!" Harry cried, "I'd be happy to!"

Tom reached up and ruffled Harry's wild mop of hair. Warmth flushed his cheeks. There was an indescribably aching need inside to be close to Harry, to touch his wild hair and let him know that he meant something to him. "It's so good to see you again."

Harry made a little noise in his throat and impishly coiled a leg around Tom's. Before the older boy could react, he was swept, headfirst, into the water.

Harry leaned over the edge, giggling uncontrollably as he waited on Tom to surface. "It's good to see you again, too, you hairy ogre!"

The giggles began to die off. The water had stilled but Tom was nowhere to be seen. Harry dipped a hand into it, feeling troubled. What if Tom hit his head on something underneath? What if he were drowning…? "Tom?" he said, pulling himself further over the edge to look deeper into the clear pool. "You alright there, Tom?"

With a great push from behind, Tom capsized the raft. Harry screamed as he fell into the water. Now it was his turn to laugh, long and hard. Harry popped up, throwing his head back. "That was uncalled for!"

"You look like a great drowned rat," Tom teased, wagging his eyebrows at the smaller boy. The warmth had gone, and he had no idea where it had come from. "You ready to head off? I'm freezing."

Harry made some kissing-noises while he wrapped his arms around his chest to hug himself. "A shame your girlfriend isn't here to keep you warm."

"Ugh," Tom grumbled as he made his way to the shore. "She is not my girlfriend." He did not have a girlfriend, or any other friends to speak of. He had… admirers and cronies; people who followed him around in marvel of his blood lines and keen grasp on the use of magic. He was friendly with none of them, although they had never seemed to notice or care.

~@~

"…Gaunt, you coming out, or what?"

"He doesn't really live here, does he?"

"Nah, this is his uncle's place. He said he had to stay here because his mum's off on holiday."

"Ah, makes sense… What a hole."

"Gaunt, come on already! We've got a portkey waiting!"

The pounding fists on the front door only served to annoy Harry more than he already was. Who were these blokes outside, and what did they want with his brother? Standing on the end of the rickety counter, Harry peeped at them through the kitchen window. He was wearing his new spectacles, catching all of the detail he had always missed before. These two were much older looking than Tom, foul-faced and sneering as they waited. They weren't as tall, but their postures were stiff, their noses upturned in disgust, and their hands were balled into fists with impatience. No, Harry did not like these two at all.

"You!" One of them shouted, catching the quizzical eleven-year-old staring at them. "Who are you then?" Both boys took a step closer to the window, smirks now plastered on their maws.

"None of your business!" Harry shouted back.

The dark-haired one chortled. "Come on out, we won't hurt you."

"Where's your brother hiding?" The sandy-haired one snapped.

Harry frowned at them. "He's asleep. Who are you?"

The dark-haired boy spoke for both of them. "Name's Lestrange, and this is Avery, and that's all you need to know. Tell Tom we're outside or we'll break through the door and tell him ourselves, you little bugger."

"Why don't you just try it? My uncle will hex the teeth right out of your mouth!" Harry slammed the window down and hopped off of the counter. The pounding against the front door resumed impatiently; piles of ash fell into the fireplace. Harry began to believe what they had said. He was sure the door was about to crumble under their fists.

" _What's that noise?"_

Morfin put a hand on Harry's shoulder, giving it a rough squeeze. Harry's knees nearly buckled under the pressure, but he held himself steady. There were very few times when his uncle addressed him without an insult. He was not going to show a hint of weakness during this one. "There're two boys outside wanting to see Tom. I don't like them," he mumbled over the banging.

Turning toward Tom and Harry's bedroom, Morfin hissed,　 _" Wake up, you useless filth, take care of your business!"_

"Did you hear that? Someone in there's speaking Parseltongue!"

"Blimey, he really is the Heir of Slytherin!"

Morfin flung the door open, and Harry tittered under a hand. Both boys on the stoop nearly jumped from their skins at the sight of him.　 _" You're not welcome, get out,"_　he said lowly, sending even more frightening signals their way. Morfin was a terrifying individual, completely unhinged; someone you did not want to upset.

"I'm up," Tom called, stretching through a yawn on the threshold of the living area. He was already dressed, wearing a fine-looking pair of trousers and a light cotton shirt. "Close the door; we'll be gone in a minute."

Tom had been home for a month and had yet to stay planted in the house. He left every morning and returned late every evening, and no one, except Harry, seemed to worry about this.

"Can I go this time, please?" Harry implored. Now that Morfin was up, and angry, he wouldn't have time to slip away without catching it from him. That - and he was fairly sure that today was his birthday. Spending a day with Tom, even if those two thugs outside were among them, was something he very much wanted to do.

"No," Tom said simply. "I'll come back early tonight. We'll go fishing."

"Fish are still all dead," Harry returned.

"Then we'll go swimming."

"It's sort of gloomy today."

"Then we'll skip rocks," Tom said in a slow, flat tone.

Harry shrugged it off, hiding his jealousy of those two boys outside. "Fine."

"Right. Well, I'm off." Tom pushed past Harry to get to the door. Morfin had already retreated back into his bedroom, giving Harry a chance to slip away unnoticed. He followed Tom outside, closing the door behind him, completely forgetting about the two arrogant ruffians waiting on his brother.

"Well, well, the little snitch comes out," Lestrange said in a sing-songy voice. "Where's your uncle now, you little pissant?"

Tom looked down at Harry, shaking his head. "I said 'no', Harry. Get back inside."

Avery hitched a thumb at the small boy. "He's coming with?"

"No, he's not.　 _I said go!_ 　" Tom's eyes were narrowed to slits as he scolded Harry.

"I'm not following you! I'd rather die!" Harry cried, and took off into the woods with tears welling up in his eyes. Why had Tom avoided him all month? Why was he so cruel to him in front of those two blokes? He ran as fast and as far as he could. It happened to be in the opposite direction of the water hole, but he did not care. All that mattered was that he was as far away from Tom as possible.

~@~

Wearing nothing more than a ragged pair of knee pants, Harry found himself standing in the centre of Little Hangleton's main road. He adjusted his glasses and looked around, wondering which of the shops his mother might be working in today. Merope did various odd jobs for everyone throughout the week; she could have been anywhere. The tears on his cheeks had dried. He grabbed his knees to catch his breath and let the stitch in his side subside.

The clomping of hooves caught his immediate attention. Harry whirled around with a bright smile. A carriage came to a halt in front of him. The driver; a kindly old man, somewhat acquainted with the boy, tipped his hat. "Morning to yea, sprite!" he chimed, giving the boy a wink. He reached down into a wrinkled paper bag and tossed out several sugar cubes.

"Good morning, Mr Hitchens!" Harry caught one in each hand. "Hullo, Matilda," he whispered soothingly, and held a flattened palm out for the striking Friesian to indulge. Her dark coat and luxurious mane were as beautiful as anything Harry had ever seen. The mare nipped at his skin, licking the remnants of sugar glazing it. He held out the other quickly, hoping the old carriage driver wasn't in too much of a hurry. "Am I keeping you?" he asked him, looking over the tail end of the horse.

"Funny yea should mention that," he said, scratching his whiskery chin. "Frank's gone to join the war, and the groom is now tending the gardens more than anything else… Yea wouldn't happen to need work, would yea? I was on my way back from meeting a fellow about this, but he never showed. I need a stable boy to keep Matilda happy till I can find a permanent replacement. What say yea?"

"Work for Mr Riddle?" Harry felt a huge lump form in his throat. Tom hated the man with all of the passion in the world, but Matilda was nuzzling his hand so affectionately, as if to coax him into it.

"He won't even know yea're there. He never goes to the stables. I'll pay yea good wages, sprite. Yea're a good lad."

It would be a swift kick in Tom's pants if Harry did this. The idea suddenly felt very, very right. "When would you like me to start?" he asked, grinning from ear to ear.

Hitchens beamed. Harry had a reputation for being a good, hard worker from all of the shopkeepers he aided. The boy was as poor as they came, with the sweetest, unbroken spirit he had ever encountered. "Hop on up here," he said, patting the empty seat beside him. "I'll give yea the tour. Matilda will need a bit of rest anyhow."

Harry climbed into the carriage without hesitation and looked at the man with slight worry. "Just as long as Mr Riddle doesn't know, okay?"

The man patted Harry's knee. "Don't worry that little head of yea's."

~@~

"Maybe we can get the stableman to teach yea a thing or two about riding. What do yea think so far? Interested?"

With stars in his eyes, Harry was in a dream-like bliss. He was surrounded by four large, beautiful beasts and had never felt more at home. He gave the man a curt nod. "I'd love to."

Hitchens cocked an eyebrow and clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Mighty proud of yea, sprite. I reckon it took a lot of nerve coming up here to the Riddle House, knowing what that man's done to yea' mother."

"I can't tell her, or Tom… or Morfin. They'd murder me," Harry confessed. "It doesn't matter; no one cares where I go anyway. So, what do I have to do?"

With a knowing nod, Hitchens grabbed a pitchfork and placed it in Harry's hand. "Cleaning the stables, grooming the beasts, giving them exercise, feeding… that's about it."

Harry gripped the wooden handle as if it were made of solid gold. "I'll do my best, sir."

"I know yea will, Harry," he replied.

~@~

For the first time since his return, Tom walked into an empty home. The sun was hanging low in the sky; with yellow and orange hues bursting through the kitchen window. His mind began to wander. Morfin was always gone around this time, doing whatever he did to keep his simple mind occupied. Merope was probably on the road, returning from town. Harry, on the other hand, was always home by this time getting things ready for supper.

Tom looked into their room to be sure it was empty. He stashed his wand and changed into a faded and patched pair of shorts. Maybe Harry was back at the water hole. It had gotten quite warm, and Tom had promised to return early enough to skip rocks with him.

A thought occurred to him as he walked through the front door. It was the thirty-first of July; Harry's birthday. He was now eleven years old. "Oh, stupid," he groaned, slapping his forehead. It was no wonder now why Harry was so dejected when he was not allowed to go with Tom. He would have to make it up to him.

Strangely enough, Harry was not at the pond. He was not in the woods; he was nowhere to be found on the grounds. Merope was sitting at the kitchen table rubbing her swollen ankles when Tom returned to the house. Morfin was hanging outside in a tree. Neither had seen hide nor hair of Harry all day.

"Don't you think someone should go look for him?" he murmured, gazing at his mother with intent.

"I'm sure he's fine—hand me that pot on the shelf," Merope replied. "I'll start dinner, I guess. He'll turn up, trust me."

The words　 _'You must protect him; keep him with you at all times.'_ 　flooded Tom's head. He did not fancy not knowing where Harry was. He took the pot from the shelf and slammed it on the counter. "What if your imaginary guardian angel came and took him off? What if your little elves decided to carve him up? Maybe those vagabonds you see every so often kidnapped him and sold him to the drifters! What's wrong with you, you fucking lunatic? Why aren't you out there looking for him?" Tom had never shouted at his mother before, but the anger he felt could no longer be contained. It was gnawing at his insides. He could not believe how blasé this woman was acting, and the thought of losing Harry was killing him on the inside.

Merope froze in place, stunned by her son's bitter words. "Tom, did you just say…"

"Forget what I said! Where is Harry?" He had to stop her before she could scold him for using a vulgarity in front of her. That should have been the least important thing in the world! He was far too upset to care, and if her squeaky voice reached his ears one more time, something very bad was going to happen. "Today's his birthday and we all forgot!"

Morfin cackled under his hand as he stood in the doorway.　 _" Funny that."_

Lowering her head in her hands, Merope began to weep. It was the loud, annoying wailing Tom had heard all of his life and had learned to loathe it as much as anything else in this ghastly shoe-box of a home.

 _" Weepy, weepy, old maid Merope,"_　Morfin hissed, and cackled again.

Fed up with the laughter and crying, with his mind spinning out of control, Tom shoved Morfin out of the way and ran outside, aimed at finding Harry. He ran to the direction of the road Harry had; he might have gone to town.

~@~

Harry's bright green eyes flicked toward the shadow of someone walking toward him. Without even thinking, he knew who it was. There was a fury in the other boy's step, a sense of heightened emotion that emanated from him like an aura. Tom's hands were in fists, his back was stiff, and he walked a straight line toward his younger brother.

Gripping his upper arm and looking him over in the moonlight, Tom's nostrils flared. He could smell the wet, awful scent of straw. Harry was also covered from head to toe in filth. "Where the hell have you been? Do you know what time it is?" The bitterness of his words slipped out before he knew he had spoken them.

Unlike his mother, Harry gritted his teeth and jerked out of his embrace. "I need a bath. I don't care what time it is," he replied, and kept walking.

"Gods, why are you such a bastard?" Tom cried, running to catch up with him.

Harry whirled around, mimicking Tom's fuelled anger. "I am a bastard, Tom. Mummy said it herself - Mr Riddle's not my father. So call me whatever you want, I don't care!"

Tom nearly laughed. He was about ready to burst. He wanted to pound Harry's face in for being so goddamned daft. "She says a lot of inconceivable things! She said she wasn't your mummy neither… you going to believe that one, too? She's fucking mad, Harry! If you haven't noticed, you and I are the only two sane people in our home!"

"Oh yeah? Well I waited all year for you to come home and all you do is ignore me! If they're so mad, why did you leave me with them?" Turning on his heel, Harry stomped off.

"I was doing research—Harry, wait!" Tom stopped dead in his tracks. It wasn't research that had kept him away, although it had been extremely useful. It was the reddening cheeks and sudden shyness that developed each and every time he caught sight of the smaller boy. He hated that feeling, it was uncontrollable and troublesome. It had been better to avoid Harry than to figure out why it was happening. He just wanted to run away and hide from it.

"Oh, come on," Harry said, waving the taller boy over to him. They clasped hands and that dreadful bashfulness soared through Tom's veins once more. Harry seemed completely unaware to this, and Tom thanked the heavens above.

Ignoring the urge to part hands, he focused on the stench radiating off of Harry instead. "You smell like a barn, you know."

Harry swung their arms back and forth while he skipped along. "Good, get used to it."

"Oh, yeah…so er… happy birthday, Harry," Tom mumbled under his breath. He had finally adjusted his self control enough to hold Harry's hand in his without breaking a sweat. Whatever this virus afflicting him was, at least it could be guarded with enough willpower.

"Thanks," said Harry through a giggle. They reached the path toward their home, neither wanting to enter. Harry pulled his hand away and pointed off to the east. "I'm just going to go clean up. I'll see you later." As quick as he could, Harry got up on his toes and placed a tiny little kiss on Tom's cheek. "Oh, and that's for saving my bloody life last month. I never did thank you for that."

Feeling like a love-sick puppy that so desperately wanted to follow him, Tom mentally kicked himself to keep from moving. The spot on his cheek where Harry's lips had touched him was on fire. "Course. Hurry back, dinner's probably done."

The soft, dark curls framing Harry's pretty face bobbed with his nod. His glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose, and he pushed them back in such a graceful manner. He turned and dashed off and was gone, and Tom's heart skipped a beat. Pushing it away, he walked to the house he hated, to sit among the two people he could not stand, but all was right in the world because Harry was finally home.


	4. Hide and Seek

 

Late May 1943

 _"Do not let him release what dwells within the chamber_."

A flash of pain overcame every sense. Harry pressed the tips of his fingers to the scar on his forehead.

"Harry, get up, you're on my jumper."

" _He must never unleash the monster."_

"Have you gone deaf? Wake up!"

Harry blinked out of his reverie and looked up at the pretty-faced girl standing over him. Her expression was a bit hard to read; she was always sneering, always angry. "What?"

Sighing, Walburga Black, Quidditch Captain and all around impossible nag, tugged on the sleeve trapped beneath Harry's body. "You've been doing that stupid daydreaming all month, and it's getting very annoying. Our final game was a shambles. How you managed to knock O'Hare from his broom and get the Snitch is beyond me."

Harry propped himself up, releasing the jumper. "Sorry, 'Burga, I've been thinking on stuff is all."

"I certainly hope it's about the last match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Do you know how important this is? Have your brother find a way to put McGonagall out of commission. I mean it." Walburga snapped the jumper in Harry's face, frazzled by his lack of interest. "If Gryffindor wins the match—they win the cup! If McGonagall- Oh, Merlin's beard, she'll never let me hear the end. I don't even want to think about it!"

As much as Harry loved Quidditch and as good as he was at being a Seeker, his mind was as far away from the sport as it could possibly be. He was glad Slytherin's season had ended. Minerva McGonagall was a challenging Seeker, hard working, practiced, and completely devoted to her craft. Getting someone to sabotage the match for Gryffindor was not something he would consider. He wanted so badly to win the cup for his house, but he could not wrap his mind around that… not when Tom had changed so much over the last few months.

Had he really changed so much? Or was it Harry that had gone through another emotional bout of self pity for being left in the dark? His third year at Hogwarts had been a stellar one. He was making good marks, he was the champion Seeker for Slytherin's Quidditch house team, and he was the adorable little brother of the Tom Gaunt: the handsome Prefect every teacher and student alike wanted to be close to. So why couldn't he feel good about that? Why did everything seem so strange? "Yeah, I'm right on top of that," he said to the fuming sixth year as he pushed himself off of the couch.

The opening to the Slytherin common room was suddenly filled with a dozen male students moving into the room. Several boys were clamouring around, quite giddy about the subject they were speaking of. Harry ducked down to avoid them, not wishing to be seen.

"Stop, I saw you. Come here."

Harry cringed, being spotted and looking like a fool for hiding behind the big, green sofa. He stood up, locking eyes with the tallest boy in the centre of the crowd and shook his head. "Can't. Got this thing I need to do." A couple of the boys surrounding Tom snickered, a few others sneered. None of them cared much for Tom's little brother outside of being their house's best Seeker in decades. Harry was annoying, always niggling on his brother to do the right thing. He was a complete goody-goody and right prat.

A hand clinched around Harry's arm and Walburga leaned in to whisper in his ear. "Don't forget about what I told you. Get Tom to curse her or something."

"Right," Harry said, feeling slightly sick to his stomach. At the time, on his first day attending Hogwarts, he was so proud to have been selected to be a part of Slytherin. It was an honour, his namesake, his right to be among the most cunning of the lot. His dorm mates weren't horrible, and Tom had never smiled as much as he had that day. It was very rewarding to be next to him again, to be so close to one another. Unfortunately, all of that changed so quickly.

Lucretia Black ran up amongst the mingling of males and threw her arms around Tom's neck. "I've been waiting all day for you to get back! Have you thought on taking me on that date yet?" she asked loudly, letting the whole common room know that Tom and she had something going on.

Harry looked her up and down, gnashing his teeth. There were too many children with the surname of Black in Slytherin to keep track of, and there was always one of them flaunting themselves at Tom in front of everyone else. To Harry, it was a disgusting show that he wanted no part of.

Tom coolly removed the girl's interlocked fingers from around his neck and straightened himself fully. "I need to talk to you," he said, giving Harry a fixed look. He glanced around at all of the Slytherins surrounding him, and added, "Privately." Instantly, all of the people began to dissipate.

Lucretia flattened the rumples in her skirt as she walked away. Passing her without notice, Tom wandered up to Harry and gripped his arm where Walburga had only moments before. "Follow me to my room."

A flush of unexplainable hot blood soared through Harry's veins. Tom was so incredibly in control of all aspects of his life, it was hard not to admire his commanding presence. He was, and always had been, number one of Tom's circle and that suited him just fine. "Course."

~@~

A letter was tossed on the large four-poster bed that Harry had hopped on. "Take a look at that. Have you been teaching her how to read and write?"

Tom's dormitory room was much larger than Harry's. Harry loved flopping around on his brother’s softer bed and filmy sheets. The deep emerald greens of the curtains were embroidered with silver threads in the shapes of tiny stars that twinkled when the lights went out. The walls were painted in luminous darks in patterns of star formations. The ceiling was covered in enchanted clouds. It was inviting, dreamlike, a second home to him. But no matter how luxurious it was, all of the dungeon rooms were bitterly cold. He shivered from the chill, wishing for that nice warm summer that approached to hurry its way.

The letter was flicked toward Harry, smacking him on the arm. "I know it wasn't Morfin, had to be you," Tom added.

"Who, mummy? A little bit, yeah." Harry picked up the letter and carefully unfolded it. The sad, barely legible scrawl nearly brought tears to his eyes. She had written her first real letter and managed to send it off. He was so proud. He looked up at Tom, who was standing over him folding his robes. "She really wrote this?"

"M’hmm." Tom crawled into the bed and tucked his hands behind his head as he stretched out over the length of the mattress. He did not look happy. "She's getting worse. She made a potion and plans to use it the next time she visits The Hanging Man. She's going to slip it into someone's drink. You know what that means, don't you?"

"No," Harry said in all honesty. He looked over the letter again while he curled up against Tom's side for warmth. The words 'Hanging', 'Riddle', and 'potion' were legible enough, which began to form a picture of what she was trying to articulate. Harry dropped his head on Tom's chest to look at him. "You think she's made a Love Potion to seduce Mr Riddle again."

Tom took the letter and folded it up, then stuck it back in his pocket, ignoring the beads of sweat forming on his brow. Despite the frigid temperature in the room, his skin was radiating with heat. "More than seduce, Harry. I think she's lonesome, or wants another child… or both. You do realise what she and Morfin have been doing when she sleeps in his room… Even you aren't that purblind. She's been trying to have a baby with him."

Harry grimaced. The thought of their mother raising another child in that home was daunting. He did not want to believe what Tom was saying about her and Morfin. "That's not true, you letch. She wouldn't do that."

"You're so stupid, Harry. Pure bloods do it all the time. Why do you think there's so many Slytherins with the surname Black?" Tom asked him.

Harry's jaw dropped. "They're all related? But they can't be!"

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to preserve purity. If you were a female, you and I… would most likely… You know the Slytherin bloodline… well…" Tom stopped himself from finishing, and blushed with a solid shade of crimson.

Harry could hardly believe his ears. "We'd make babies too?"

Tom shrugged, looking off at the wall. "Yeah, sure. There's nothing wrong with it, Harry. It's all conjecture about the taboo of being interbred. I mean… mummy and Morfin are… okay, I admit that they are the exception to the rule." After trying so hard to remain sensitive, he and Harry both snorted openly. They fell in a heap of giggles and intertwined limbs, very glad they would not have to pass their mutated genes along to each other's future offspring.

"I've been thinking on this all day," Tom continued. "I don't think she's able to have more children, or she would have had another by now. I've written her back asking her to wait until we come home so we can help her."

"We aren't going to, are we?" Harry asked, shocked.

Tom nudged him in the ribs. "Of course not, you daft idiot. I'm hoping to Obliviate the idea out of her mind. Now, there's one more thing I need to say and I won't take no for an answer… and don't look at me like that. I don't want you to go back to that job when we get home. You spend too much time on it and I need you to stay close to her, keep an eye on her so she doesn't do anything stupid."

Harry's eyes were narrowed to slits. Tom was always trying to find a way to control his life. "I like my job," he snapped. "You don't have anything to do, you don't work—you stay home with her."

"Being a common little stable boy for pence a day? You really fancy that…?" Tom sighed, wishing Harry could understand that he would take care of him from now on without him ever having to lift a finger. He just needed more time to set everything right. "Listen to me, Har; I have plenty to do over the summer, and I have money now. C'mon, I'll buy you a new broomstick if you do this for me." He hugged Harry around the shoulders, giving them a squeeze.

It was then that he felt it: touching the smaller boy, having him wiggling around against him in such a way was getting him very aroused. He was sexually attracted to Harry – who was a boy – and was his brother - his little thirteen year old brother. Tom rolled off of the bed, stunned by this self-discovery, needing some distance between him and Harry as fast as possible.

"—I have to go—"

"Where are you getting all of this money from? You're doing criminal things with those awful blokes, aren't you?" Harry was lying on his stomach now tugging on the leg of his brother's trousers to keep him from fleeing again. "Don't you walk off after throwing all of this rubbish in my face. Where are you getting all of this money?"

Tom pulled away. He was so tired of explaining his reasons without actually giving Harry any truth to them. The boy would never understand what he was trying to do. "That's neither here nor there. Those　 _awful_ 　blokes are helping me achieve some of my more difficult goals; making a profit from it is an added benefit. And what about you?" He pointed an accusing finger in Harry's face, turning the tables. "Your marks have gone down!"

"In Arithmancy — so what?" Harry bit back. He collapsed on the bed as if the subject had sucked out all of his energy. "It's just one subject. Numbers aren't worth bothering over."

God, he was so pretty…

Tom backed up, trying his best hide the obvious signs of arousal behind his robes. His hands fumbled with the material, willing the call of Eros to quiet. This was not the time for Harry to take notice. "Arithmancy is very important. Do you think Grindelwald ignored Arithmancy?"

Harry rolled his eyes, bit his tongue, and mentally prepared himself for another lesson on just how amazing Gellert Grindelwald, the dark Wizard spewing his desire for Wizard supremacy in most of Europe, really was. Tom was fascinated with him. Harry thought he was an absolute bore. “Why don’t you just marry him already and be done with it.”

Tom shrugged, ignoring him. "Sure, you could take mummy's route and have her make you a Love Potion so you can find yourself a nice, rich muggle wife to settle down with, too, if that's what your goals are. Why not quit school altogether while you're at it?"

"Fine, I'll try harder," Harry promised, hoping to put an end to the Grindelwald conversation before it fully took off. He grinned up at Tom then, giving him the cheekiest smile he could muster. "Help me study it for my finals next week?"

Tom smiled back, melting on the spot. He always hated leaving on a bad note. "Course."

"Hey, Tom?" Harry mumbled, having only just remembered the moment before he had entered the common room. "I had another one of those er… those visions."

"Were you sleeping when it happened? Was there pain?" Tom sat back beside the boy to look him over more carefully. "What happened this time?" A small trickle of blood had coagulated at the very edge of the lightning-bolt shaped wound. He pulled Harry into his arms and wiped it away, frowning.

Harry told him what the voice had said. He could feel Tom tense up fully around him, as if the cryptic words meant a lot more to him than they did Harry. "Does that make any sense?"

Tom closed Harry's eyes for him as he rocked him in his arms. "You look tired; just get some rest, alright? I'll stay with you till you fall asleep." Harry gave him a weak nod, and within minutes was snoring softly against his neck. Tom sat there in quiet contemplation while he rocked him. The Chamber of Secrets would, for now, remain unknown. These visions, the voices speaking to Harry, were warnings. They had yet to lead Tom astray.

~@~

After stepping out of the ornate fireplace, shrinking his and Harry's trunks, and shaking hands with Mrs Rosier for allowing them to use the Floo Network, Tom waved a flat good-bye to their house mate, Druella. She was in Harry's year, she was very pretty and always had googly eyes for his little brother. It boiled Tom's blood something fierce, but that wasn't going to stop him from getting them home quickly. "Thanks again for allowing us to use your fireplace. Getting from London takes hours the old fashioned way," he confided to the older woman.

"It's really no problem, Tom," Mrs Rosier said sweetly. She was leggy and blond, filthy rich, and newly widowed. "You're more than welcome to use it on your return to London in the fall or whenever you want." She leaned up against him and flicked a lock of hair out of his eye. “I mean it. Whenever you want.”

Tom gave her a warm smile in return. "Thank you very much, ma’am. We'll probably take you up on that."

Druella walked Harry to the door while she and he gaped at the obvious philandering going on between the others. Girls of all ages were constantly throwing themselves at Tom, and for some odd reason it was really starting to bother Harry. Druella, on the other hand, who was nearly the spitting image of her mother, only seemed to have eyes for the littler version. "Come visit me this summer," she whispered in Harry's ear, and put a small kiss on his cheek.

Harry blanched. "But I've got a job…" he mumbled awkwardly as he opened the door. His mouth hung open as he touched the side of his blushing face. "Er… bye, Druella."

The small blonde girl giggled under her hand. "Bye, Harry!"

Tom filed out behind, giving Harry a push. "Come on. Let's get moving before the misses asks us to stay for dinner again."

There was pure silence between them while Tom's mind wandered along all of the things he had discovered over the past year; everything Slughorn had mentioned about Horcruxes, old Albus Dumbledore's connections to Grindelwald, not to mention Grindelwald's interesting speech about the war with Germany, the brilliance of discovering the existence of The Philosopher's Stone, and the possible use of harnessing and strengthening the liquid that was extracted from it. And if it could be done - would it be as powerful as he hoped? Could it be something he could consume without growing dependent on? These things were so important to him, and completely useless and loony to Harry.

Harry…

Every fleeting thought disappeared as he looked down at him, noting the blush on the smaller boy's cheeks as they walked along the path past the main road in Greater Hangleton. "What's with you?"

"Now you ask—Druella kissed me!" Harry blurted, pointing to his left cheek. He had been dying to say it since they'd left. A kiss, a real kiss, his first kiss! "Just here… with her lips."

Tom's eyebrows shot up into his neatly combed fringe. They would not be using the Rosier's fireplace ever again. Tom scowled openly at the pink-cheeked boy and gave him another shove forward toward the woods. "Stay away from her, she's a harlot."

Harry could sense that his brother was irked, and it enthralled him to wonder as to why. What did Tom care if some random bird had kissed him on the cheek? It was just a little peck, so unimportant on the large scale that was kissing. He said nothing for a long while, contemplating on why his older brother, who had had sex - of all things - would be so opposed to someone touching their lips to him.

"No, she's not. Orion said she's a virgin."

"Hmm?" Tom looked down at Harry again, baffled. He had drifted again, shoving the awful thought of someone kissing Harry into the back of his mind. "What are you going on about?"

"Druella Rosier, you stupid git," Harry said in a low growl. Had he already forgotten about it? "I thought… never mind."

Tom's scowl returned. "Are you going to start up with that again? She. Is. A. Right. Old. Trollop. She's got a reputation, everyone knows about it… even Orion. He only defends her because he's fucking barmy about her. You should take that into consideration, he is your friend after all."

Harry pulled his robes over his head and balled them up in frustration. It was hot outside and Tom was making it worse. "What do you know about friends? Your little followers that chase you around all day are… they're all disgusting if you ask me—not friends at all. When are you going to tell them that mummy is really our mother and that the home we live in is really our home? Or what about our Muggle father, hmm? When are you going to—"

Tom gave Harry a brisk shove to shut him up. "I thought we talked about this. There is no Muggle father, and our mother is off on permanent holiday. We never speak about the truth in front of them. They aren't worthy of it. They're so fucking simple minded and blind to blood status even though being the Heir of Slytherin greatly surpasses any part of their pathetic pure-blood heritage. Just being a half-blood, to them, makes me half of what they are… and I won't have that."

Harry was rubbing the spot on his arm where Tom had laid into him. "I think you should be proud that you're smarter, more powerful than they are with only half the magical blood." Through a sniffle, he added, "I'm proud of you, Tom."

A swelling mixture of guilt and pride fluttered in Tom's belly. He stopped Harry from walking by cupping his face. He brushed over the spot where Harry had pointed and claimed the kiss had been placed, feeling an urgent need to clean it off.

Harry's wide eyes blinked rapidly. He clenched them shut and sucked in a deep breath as Tom brought his lips toward him, kissing the very spot that Druella had.

"There," Tom said in a small voice, "Now you've been kissed by someone who loves you, and is just as proud of you."

Harry tittered with embarrassment. He had no idea why this new kiss was so perfectly important to him. He cupped his own cheeks, feeling them burning under his palms. "Thanks, Tom."

Little black spots hindered Tom's vision. He was dizzy with a slew of new thoughts flummoxing his already addled mind. Digging his fingernails into his thigh to stop himself from kissing Harry again and again, he pushed on. "Think nothing of it," he murmured. There was a spring now in both of their steps. There was a need to get home and settle, to begin the summer and adjust to the horrors of Morfin and Merope, to be themselves, and to have fun.

* * *

Merope danced around the kitchen table, looking like the daintiest of old, worn out fairies. She was holding a jar of healing salve in her hand. "Come sit, baby-doll. I'll fix you all up," she cooed, patting the chair in front of her. Working in the stables had completely floored Harry's upper body. His muscles ached something fierce. He wasn't sure how much longer he could handle the pain before his body grew accustomed to the tiresome manual labour once more. That, and the open wounds he now had covering his back were unbearable.

The clomping of horse hooves sounded through the window, catching Harry's attention as he moved toward the chair. He watched his mother carefully for a reaction to Mr Riddle passing by their home again, but there was none. Merope acted as if she hadn’t heard a thing. Tom must have done a spectacular job at removing the sinful thoughts about their father from her mind this time; she hadn't mentioned him once since their return.

Her long, thin fingers slid along a few of the nastier welts etched on the boy's back as she massaged the gooey salve into his muscles. She sighed as anguish contorted her heavy features. "Oh, Merlin, look what he's done to your body."

"He doesn't bother me much anymore," Harry replied. That was not exactly true, but he felt his mother had enough to worry about. Morfin had played a bit of a prank on Harry only the evening before on his return trek from town. He rubbed the lump on his scalp unconsciously as he thought about how hard his head had collided with the dirt road.

Tom was already gone when Harry had woken up. As with every other summer before, Tom's avoidance of their mother, their home and of Harry was inevitable. Pulling his shirt on, Harry stood up, adjusted his glasses and thanked his mother. "I'll be home late again. Don't wait up, alright?"

Merope rubbed her messy fingers on her apron while she looked out of the grimy kitchen window. "There's a storm coming in, Harry. Maybe you should stay home…"

"Silly, there's not a cloud in the sky," Harry teased, looking over her shoulder. "Besides, what harm can a little rain do?"

~@~

"—Lumos!—"

Walking into the dark and unclean house, Tom groaned as the tip of a wand lit up the room and that irritating banshee's shriek filled his ears.

Merope grimaced at the older boy. "Where have you been?"

All Tom had to do was survive one more month of this waking nightmare. He would be turning seventeen by the end of the year and had saved up enough money to get him and Harry a place somewhere closer to Wizarding London, and farther away from　 _her_.

"When did you start caring and why aren't you asleep yet?" was his apt reply. It was hot: the temperature had exceeded any that he could remember. And he was so tired after a long day of research and experimentation, he just wanted to fall into bed and drift off into a deep sleep. Merope was sitting in the filthy armchair by the fireplace looking dirty and sweaty. Her house dress was covered in ash. Tom's nose crinkled in disgust. "What have you been up to, hmm? Were there more of your elves trying to get through the chimney?" He walked to his bedroom and peered inside. His and Harry's bed was empty.

"Puffskeins, not elves! Go find your brother," Merope ordered. Her breathing had grown hot and heavy, her hands curled over the arms of the chair, and her mouth was down turned with an ugly frown. "He should have been home hours ago. Where have you been? Why aren't you watching him properly, Tom? He's just a baby."

Tom bit down on his tongue and gripped the frame of the doorway to remain in control. She was right, as loopy as she was; Harry was far too young to be out there alone at this hour. "Yeah, where is this farm he works at?" He would go find Harry, drag him home if he had to and make sure he never went back. Enough was enough. Merope simply could not handle being alone for long periods of time anymore.

His own will was faltering on the matter. It gnawed at his psyche with little rat teeth. His mother was just sitting there, staring at him as if he were the Devil himself. There was a putrid smell wafting under his nostrils from a pot in the kitchen. He could hear the thunderous snores of Morfin resounding out from the other bedroom.

 _One more month of this hell hole_ …

The front door opened and closed, and Harry stood at the threshold looking between Tom and his mother. "Why are you still up? I told you I'd be late, mummy." He looked clean but still carried that awful wet straw smell in with him. He gave Tom a knowing wink.

"Ah, there you are, baby," Merope said through a relief-filled sigh. She got up from the armchair and patted the boy's arm. "I can go to bed now. Good night, boys."

Tom gaped back at her. It was unbelievable how much Harry's presence affected her mood swings. He turned to Harry, shaking his head. "It's really late. You shouldn't be walking home alone from town at this time," he advised him, but Harry merely tossed him a silly grin. They both swallowed hard, watching their mother drag herself into Morfin's room and close the door behind her. Tom shook the vile imagery from his head. "Come on, let's get some sleep."

* * *

 

"It's far too hot to be laying this close by you," Harry grumbled, shifting to his side to face Tom. "You're getting me all sticky. You're hairy and sweaty. It's disgusting."

Tom laughed with mirth. "I'm getting you sweaty and you're stench is making me feel quite unwell." On the contrary, it felt perfect to be lying next to Harry again. The room itself was tiny, barely large enough to enchant the bed to an acceptable size. He might have cared at Hogwarts, but here, this close to the beautiful boy, feeling his warm breath cascade over his collarbone; Tom did not mind at all. Wearing nothing but their breeches with the small window propped opened by a book, everything seemed eerily pleasant at the House of Gaunt. "We could hit the water hole," he suggested, propping his head on a fist to watch the full moon reflect its brilliant glow over the tops of the nearby trees.

"Course," agreed Harry, finding any position he shifted to be very uncomfortable. He threw his legs over the side of the bed and began feeling around the floor for his clothes. His glasses were already positioned on his nose, slipping toward the tip with each stretched movement.

Again, that strange tingle began to spread throughout Tom's being, watching Harry's sylph form bent over and glistening with sweat, illuminated by the pale moonlight. He had grown so much, yet was still so delicate and smallish. The curve of his body, the messy hair hanging in his eyes, the slight muscles contracting with every change of position, fascinated Tom. Harry was gorgeous, absolutely stunning to look at. "We don't need clothes," he uttered loudly, and nearly smacked himself for thinking such thoughts. Merlin's beard, Harry was his brother.

With a shrug, Harry stood up and tiptoed to the door. He cringed, hearing the mattress creak a bit too loudly for his tastes and held a finger to his lips. "For the love of the stars, do not wake Morfin up!" he hissed. "He's ready to skin me alive as it is. Be as quiet as you can, troll."

Tom rolled out of bed, grinning with sarcasm. "Just cast a silencing spell on the room, you bunny. Anyway, if he makes one move toward you, I'll hex his hands off."

"Not supposed to use magic outside of school. I'm not the secret rule breaker—you are." Harry turned the doorknob while watching the taller boy sneak up behind him. "You'd really do that? Hex his hands off?" he asked, still grinning, and snuck out into the dark living room.

Tom was behind him with a hand on his shoulder, leading Harry toward the front door. "You better believe it," he whispered back.

~@~

The grass crunched under their feet, bleached and dried out from lack of rain. Both boys ran, panting and sweating, pushing their way through the thatch of trees till they reached the crooked dirt path. They ran until Tom could run no more. He leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees to catch his breath. He watched Harry's silhouette disappear as the path took a sharp turn, and sighed as the wonderful feeling and sinful thoughts crept back through his body and mind. He tipped to his side, dropping his forehead against a birch tree and laughed humourlessly at the irony of falling in love with his brother when he found it so repulsive to think of his mother and her brother doing the immoral courtship that they did.

"He's only thirteen," he told himself. "Okay, nearly fourteen, couple of days give or take… oh God, and he's so handsome… and my brother…"

 _"Are you going to stand there humping trees all night or are you coming?"_ 　The angelically-evil hiss of Parseltongue sent cruel shivers down Tom's spine. Harry peered at him from the path, giggling manically. He had soused himself in the water, and stood shimmering against the backdrop of the indigo sky. "Get a move on, you old cow!" He turned and ran, and Tom forced the wicked imagery away as he pulled himself up to stand.

A splash rang out through the trees. Tom trudged through the nettles and bramble, wishing he would have worn something on his legs. The pond came into view soon after. He stood at end of the trail in a daze, basking in the magnificence of the scenery. It did not look how he remembered it the summer before. It had only been a pond then, but now with waking eyes, it held a beauty, an ethereal perfection he was blinded from before. Long, braided vines of willow trees swung lazily in the breeze over the moonlit pool of sparkling water. Lily pads bobbed with the ripples. The whoop of a crane called in the distance, and Harry emerged in the centre of the pool, throwing his head back to get the hair out of his eyes. "There you are," Tom hailed, letting a smile creep up on his lips.

"Oh, it's fantastic, Tom, get in here!" Harry squalled, splashing handfuls of water like a child in Tom's direction as he stepped into the water. "Don't forget to take your pants off!"

Glancing at a bush beside him, Tom eyed Harry's little white breeches dangling from its thorny prunes. His brow furrowed, and heated breath puffed from his nostrils. This test was growing more difficult than he could handle. There had to be a cure for this affliction of finding another boy attractive, but he had yet to discover one. "We can dry them off with magic, Harry. There's no need to swim nude."

Harry shrugged, oblivious to Tom's meaning and submerged himself once more.

With a grunt of vexation, Tom dove headfirst into the water. He broke the surface, trembling from the sudden temperature change that washed over his skin. He pushed the fringe out of his eyes and rubbed the nape of his neck, adjusting to the drizzle running down the length of his back. His toes dug into the slimy base of the pool as a soft breeze kissed his chest. With a loll of his head, heaven had been achieved.

"Thinking about that tart again, git?" Shock stirred Tom from his contentment, feeling fingers curl around his neck and a foot press into the back of his knee. He was pulled under before he could react, submersed completely as Harry coiled around him. With a thrust, he shoved up and surfaced with the younger boy still clinging to his back.

After several deep breaths, Tom pursed his lips.

"I'll bet you were wanking," Harry whispered in his ear, arms and legs wrapped solidly around his waist and neck. "Letch. Did I interrupt?"

"Utter rubbish, get off," Tom hissed. Harry was making kissing noises against the shell of his ear, his lips so close; he only had to turn his own head a notch to touch them with his own. The tingle returned. Warmth grew from Tom's pelvis, feeling this body so connected to him. An all too familiar stir began to harden him despite the mental fight to hide it.　 _Wrong, wicked, immoral..._ 　"Really, Harry, let go!"

Teeth nipped and latched onto Tom's earlobe. Harry growled lowly before pushing off and away from him. "I hope the birds don't do that to me when I'm sixteen," he sang, and Tom whirled around in fret, certain that some part of Harry's leg had grazed his crotch as he untangled himself.　 _Oh my God, he knows…_

"Do what?" he cried, gaping at him and covering his embarrassment with both hands. The last thing in the world he wanted was for Harry to know he had aroused him. The boy was naive, but not half as thick as most.

"Turn me into a bore," Harry replied, clicking his tongue. "You're so dull, Tom-Tom. I'm shocked you didn't bring a book in the water to study."

Relief washed over the older boy. He released the breath he was holding and settled back into the water. That cure had to be out there. He hated avoiding Harry this much, but it was a necessity. "I'd rather be dull and not a runt—like you," he jested, then immediately regretted it.

Harry stopped swimming and stood waist-deep in the water. "Is that so?" he said darkly.

Tom could feel the anger building, and realised he had probably missed some sort of recent quarrel between Harry and Morfin with his late returns home. He threw his hands up and headed toward the shore. "I'm going back, tired," he grumbled. He did not want to row with Harry in the middle of the night, in the middle of a pond, without any clothing on.

He pulled himself out of the water and began the trudge back to the tiny house. Less than a minute later, Harry was beside him, hiking his breeches up on his hips. "Do you really think I'm a runt, Tom?" he egged, "You can just say it, you know. Runt or no, I can take it."

Tom kept his eyes on the path. There were so many things he thought of Harry as, but 'runt' was not one of them. "I don't think you're a runt. I didn't mean it."

"Are you taking mummy to town tomorrow? She asked me if I'd go help her with the wash and all that, but I've got my own job to do." Harry's mind worked so mysteriously, Tom mused. He was hot one moment, cool the next. He truly believed that Harry had already forgotten the ill name he had called him moments before.

"Course," he replied with a snort. "I could do that. Mind you, after tomorrow I won't be around much again. Got my own things to do."

Harry looked down at his feet, hurt, but an eerie howl cut through the woods, giving him a start. He gasped; already spooked from thinking about those awful Slytherin boys Tom preferred to spend his time with, and the knowledge that Mr Riddle had spotted him in the stables earlier that day. He reached out and clutched the older boy's hand. "Are we almost back? I can't see a thing."

Tom looked downward at the boy. "Where's your glasses?"

Harry bit his bottom lip as he halted his steps. "I left them back at the pond," he groaned, looking behind him.

"I'll summon them when we get back," Tom soothed, squeezing Harry's hand with reassurance.

With a grin, Harry nuzzled against his side. "Thanks. You think of everything, you know that?"

Sadly, he only wished that were true. Everything going through Tom's mind was naughty and perverted. The beautiful boy with pretty green eyes was rubbing up against him, driving him slowly mad with lust. Pinching his own thigh, Tom yanked Harry forward as he pressed on. "It's nothing," he whispered as they reached the copse of the woods. "I'd do anything for you."


	5. Bitter Relations

 

Ralph Hitchens wrung his hands in fret as he made his way to the stables. Suddenly, the sizable walk felt far too short. He was responsible for this blunder. He should never have allowed Cecilia to get as close to the stables as she had, thusly spotting little Harry Gaunt tending to her animal the day before and quickly snitching on him to that spoiled brat, Tom Riddle. The recent widow, pining to reacquaint herself with the rich divorcee, was a downright filthy blabbermouth. "Sprite," he said in a low voice, looking shifty-eyed as he approached the boy walking one of the horses around the paddock. Harry looked up at him with worry, knowing immediately that Mr Riddle had, in fact, spied him as he had thought.

Halting the young roan and giving it a firm rub under its chin, Harry waited for the man to reach him before bolting off into the woods for fear of hearing the worst. He loved this job, loved the horses… "Am I being dismissed, sir?" he asked him, seeing the truth in the man's sad blue eyes.

Hitchens sighed. "He wants t' talk to yea, actually. Yea don't have to, Harry. I know the man's no good and he frightens yea something awful." Tom Riddle was a man of little honour, a low-life dirty sonofabitch in Hitchen’s eyes. His unfortunate parents had raised a right bully, spoiling the boy rotten. "I wouldn't blame yea if yea legged it, sprite. I can tell him yea weren't up for it."

"I'm not afraid of him." Handing the old man the lead, Harry walked over to a water barrel and splashed a handful of cool water onto his face. He wiped it off with a handkerchief to clean himself up. With his posture straight and his hair slicked back with his fingers, he took a deep breath. "Point me the right way, please?"

Ralph took the boy by the shoulder and steered him toward the back gardens. "Keep yea' chin up, little one. He's just over there sunbathing."

"Sunbathing? Who has time for that?" Harry nearly laughed despite the tight knot his stomach had found itself bundled in. He tried to swallow down the hard lump in his throat, and made his way to the back of the manor.

"Here he comes. My God, look at those clothes…"

"Quiet, Cecelia. Ah, there you are, Harry. Come over here for a moment, need to speak with you," Riddle said, propping himself on his lounge chair and lifting the sun visor from his eyes to gaze the scrubby boy over. He was wearing nothing but a pair of swim trunks that showed off a great deal of leg. He looked to be as tall as Tom, just as handsome, and utterly enthralled with taking in every single inch of Harry's unclean form as he approached them.

Cecelia pulled back her curled auburn hair from her shoulders and giggled untimely as Harry puffed out his chest to prepare himself for the confrontation. She stretched out along her lounge chair, showing off her beautiful swimsuit-clad body. Harry had never seen a woman dressed in so little before. He blanched and looked away. "Tom, he needs a thorough hosing down before he gets any closer."

"Right—a good hosing down," Harry repeated through a sneer. He centred his attention on that man resembling Tom. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

Tom Riddle smiled with the air of fortune and grace that Harry had seen only once before on another human being. Now he understood where his brother had gotten these wonderful attributes that seemed to have skipped him. The man radiated with charm. "How is your mother, Harry? And your brother, how's he getting on? What's his name again? You know, the tall boy. Does your mother feed either of you, you're both about as scrawny as a rail post."

Harry just stood there staring at him. He had no desire to indulge the man with idle chit-chat.

Cecelia snorted under her hand at the gall, as if Harry was so far beneath them that ignoring Riddle's questions might be an act of treason. "You should answer your father when he asks you a question," she snapped. The side of her lip was curled upward with distaste but her eyes softened as she took in the young boy's delicate features.

"He's not my father," Harry returned without looking at her. He could not take his eyes off of this man who looked so much like Tom. Erasing a few lines around his eyes and a bit of greying at the temples, they could have been twins.

Riddle chuckled darkly. "Of course I'm your father, boy. That old witch has told me on numerous occasions. ' _Oh, look at our beautiful son, my love! Come home, come home to us!_ ' She should be jailed for what she's done… stoned, burned at the stake."

Harry raised an eyebrow in wonder. Could it be true? Tom seemed to believe that this man was his father, but Harry had never been truly convinced. It felt strange and wrong to consider it. Riddle had abandoned them regardless, and was not worth even this conversation. Harry's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, making it impossible to articulate any decent comeback. "I er… I don't think you have any right to speak about her that way. She's told me herself that you're not my—"

Riddle stopped the blabbering with a raised hand while he looked back at the woman beside him. "Celia darling, why don't you take Harry inside and get that change of clothing we purchased for him. Get him all cleaned up and dressed properly for our outing this afternoon."

Blinking rapidly, Harry took a step back. "Outing? I'm not going on any—" Cecelia was on her feet and grasping his arm before he fully understood what was happening. Her grip tightened as he tried to remove it. "Get your bloody hand off of me, bint," he grunted, feeling her long fingernails dig into the flesh.

"Oh, he's got a foul little mouth on him," Cecelia hissed. "I've got a mind to take him upstairs and wash it out with soap."

The elder Tom stood from his chair, looking fiercely down on Harry. "You are going, Harry, you're my son. I have every right to take you on an outing if I wish to do so. And never speak to a lady with those vile words again. Do I make myself clear?"

"This is kidnapping," Harry stated bluntly. The woman coiled around him, preventing any sudden flight to safety. Riddle was now standing directly in front of him. His smile was wicked, evil. "I'm not going anywhere with you disgusting Muggles! My mother will turn you both into—"

Cecelia gave Harry a little shake to shut him up, but Riddle quickly pulled the boy out of her grasp. He held Harry by the shoulders as he bent down to his level. "Now, now, Harry, this isn't meant to be anything unpleasant. I merely wish to take you with us on our picnic. We want to get to know you a bit better, is that so wrong? You may leave when we are finished."

He was being forced to go, but could leave once it was over? Yeah, he could handle that. That didn't sound all that difficult. "Fine," Harry said breathlessly, sloughing the man's hands away from his shoulders. "Do I get to keep my job if go with?"

Riddle smiled again, baring his perfect white teeth. He glanced up at the woman behind the boy, giving her a wink. "Of course you do. I wouldn't have it any other way."

* * *

As the sun began to set and another long day of study came to an end, Tom walked the nettled path from the road toward the copse of land where his home stood. A spiral of steam billowed out of the tiny kitchen window, catching his eye. He instantly caught the most seductive bouquet of water lilies and old, worn parchment from books in the Restricted Section at school. He inhaled deeply, basking in its arousal. For a brief moment, he lost himself in the feeling of floating on air, the spectacular allowance of drifting away into bliss.

Shaking it from his head, he pushed the front door to his home open and rounded the table. Taking the locket dangling around his mother's neck in hand, he pulled the batty old witch away from the bubbling cauldron on the potbelly stove. "What have I told you about brewing Amortentia inside, mummy? Do you know how dangerous this stuff is? It's splattering all over the walls. What if Harry were to accidentally swallow some? For Mordred's sake - what if Morfin did?"

 _"What if I did what, ya useless dirty-blood?"_ 　Morfin was looking over his shoulder from the armchair.

Merope squeaked and pulled the chain out of Tom's grasp as he fixed a scowl on his uncle. She lifted the cauldron up and headed to the door, nearly tripping a half dozen times on her way out.

Tom's hand itched to grip his wand. He had not laid eyes on Morfin since his return and had little want to stay in the same room with him. There would be trouble if the wretched, matted-haired monster mentioned one more word about his blood status. "Mind your damned business," he replied matter-of-factly, studying the man's movement as he slumped back in his chair. Morfin appeared defeated, fragile, aged… which only fueled Tom's lust to cut him down. "You're pathetic. Go crawl back into the shadows and disappear."

 _"The little runt won't use magic ta defend himself yet. I've got ta teach him a lesson somehow. Should'a seen what I done to ‘is head."_ 　Morfin held up a hand, showing Tom the black stone ring of their ancestors perched snugly on his middle finger.　 _"’e's got the Peverell coat of arms permanently dented in his skull. Broke it open like a melon, I did…"_

With every last bit of self control fleeting and a flames of hatred that burned so hot for his uncle consuming his being, Tom had his wand drawn and pointed at Morfin in a manner of a second. His dark eyes narrowed in loathe.　 _"—Crucio!—"_ 　The word slipped so easily from his lips - and it was so unbelievably luscious to say. Tom watched in delight as his uncle seized up on the chair, twitching and screaming, and he laughed as he had never laughed before. It was delicious.

Merope ran back inside and grappled Tom's arms, breaking the curse. "Never, Tom, no!" she cried in panic.　 _"Never!"_

Shoving her off, placing his wand in his pocket, Tom brushed the hair out of his eyes to observe Morfin's recovery. The effects of the spell seemed to do the trick. The man could hardly catch his breath. "It must have been excruciatingly painful, no doubt," he murmured through a smirk. "I trust we won't be bothering Harry again, will we?"

Morfin gave Tom a nervous shake of his head.

"And you…" Tom turned on his mother, glowering. "No more Love Potions brewed anywhere around the house."

With a whinge, Merope agreed.

"Right, well," Tom said in a lighter tone while he shrugged his robes off and folded them over the back of a kitchen chair, "I think I'll tuck in early. It's been a long day."

* * *

Sitting in the back of the finest looking motor car Harry could imagine ever existed; he bolted out of his seat and tapped the driver's shoulder to catch his attention. "Please, right here, Mr Hitchens. I don't want anyone to see me." He had already changed out of the extravagant clothing Mr Riddle insisted on whenever he made Harry tag along with him and Cecelia, replacing them on the leather seat of the Bentley in a folded stack. It wasn't embarrassment of being seen in the wealthy man's car or in his clothes; on the contrary, it was fear. He was afraid of betraying his mother, his brother, finding himself nearly enjoying his and his lady friend's company.

Whether it was attempted brainwashing or an honest endeavour at making amends for abandoning them, Tom Riddle was not as vicious as everyone had made him out to be. His persistent gift-giving and coaxing of Harry to stay on a night in his manor whittled away at a large portion of his hatred for the man. And Riddle's parents were kind, doting individuals who tried desperately to fatten the waif-thin boy up a bit. Even Cecelia turned out to be quite the equestrian, taking it upon herself to teach Harry the basics of riding. Harry did not trust them fully, but he did not fight back anymore.

"Are yea sure, sprite? I can take yea right to the path," Hitchens informed him, but Harry made for the door, shaking his head. The elderly man pulled off to the side of the road. "Yea be back here bright and early now. I'll be waiting on yea on this spot. Mr Riddle insists yea join him and Riddle Sr. for breakfast and a walk through the gardens."

Harry laughed. "I'm never going to get to see the horses again at this rate, am I? At least, not like I used to." He climbed out of the car and shut the door, and leaned into the open window to thank the old man. Muggles. There were so many Muggles thrust into his life now – and not near as bad as he thought they would be. "I miss them. This is all so new and strange for me."

"Now that Bryce is back from the war, the groom is taking good care of the beasts for yea; yea haven't got to lift a finger. Don't yea worry on having a bit of what's coming to yea, sprite," Hitchens replied. "I wish Mr Riddle'd consider looking in on yea're brother, but I suppose that's beyond repair now, eh?"

"Oh, yeah," Harry said with a cringe. "If Tom knew… gods, I need to stop going before he finds out. I don't want to think of the tar and feathering he'd do to me. Riddle is poison to him."

~@~

The relentless summer heat and threats of air bombings had kept Tom at home more often than he liked. All of London was preparing for the threat of another Blitz. It did, however, put him to the test of all boundaries of his will. Fortunately, he had discovered a way to work up a resistance to this disastrous desire for Harry by simply taking care of the issue whenever it popped into his mind.

In the dark of his small room, Tom leaned back into his pillow and sighed with content. His hand moved slowly down the path of his bare chest, the tips of his fingers trailing lightly across the taut skin. He slid them under the elastic of his pants. They grazed along the length of his arousal before claiming it fully. His heart beat rapidly under his ribcage as the soft pads moved, stroking the silky hardness to its rhythm. Fuck, it felt so good to let go and give Morfin a taste of his own medicine. And then Harry… God, he was so gorgeous, so fucking right for him. If only things could be different.

"I am Lord Voldemort," he whispered through the silence, simpering at the iniquity of his earlier actions. He loved the way it sounded coming from his own lips. It was only a shame he had to keep the facade of the perfect student at Hogwarts. Taking the surname of his father and combining it with his first and middle, he had come up with what he thought was a brilliant new title.

Riddle. That bastard Muggle would pay for his crimes later for flaunting himself around in front of his poor, maddened mother day by day with his wealth and disgust for her. He was not worthy of breath. He and Harry would see to that when the boy came of age.

The thoughts that plagued him now enhanced the euphoria of his actions. Images of the pretty black-haired boy flickered in his mind. His breath was shallow, his eyes closed. The vision; messy hair, golden skin glistening with sweat, the brightest of green eyes under the thick brush of onyx lashes… His dainty hands and shapely toes, the dip of his navel, and contour of his blushing-pink nipples… The upturn of his nose, his pillowy lips, the soft line of his jaw… So beautiful, so right for him…

The door to the bedroom had opened, missing his notice.

" _Harry…"_

_"Yes?"_

Tom sucked in a great breath and pulled his knees up while tucking his hands behind his back. "Christ, Harry, what are you doing home so early? You should knock before entering closed doors!"

"What's wrong, did I scare you?" Closing the door behind him, Harry plucked away at the buttons of his shirt. With each peel of his tattered clothes his skin became more exposed to Tom's vision, feeding his appetite for completion. "I need to lie down; I fell off a horse this afternoon. Mordred but it hurts like nothing other." He dropped onto the mattress to nuzzle with his older brother. "Why are you in bed so early… or home for that matter? I thought you weren't going to be home much anymore."

All of the blood drained from Tom's face and pooled back into his groin. Harry was far too close to him. "Er… shops closed up early. There was a curfew put in place, there was an air raid warning or something."

Rubbing the ghastly bruise on his thigh, Harry draped his long leg across Tom's bent knee for leverage. He was rubbing it, touching it, poking at it with a finger, massaging the muscle in such a way… "How bad does it look? Gonna seize up tonight, you wait. I'll wake up screaming."

"Okay, enough—geroff," Tom groaned, unable to take his eyes off of the shapely limb dangling over his knee. The skin was so golden, stretched taut over the firm muscle basked in moonlight. He shoved the leg off, exhaling heavily. "Where've you been all day?"

With a huff, Harry rolled over onto Tom and held him to the bed. "At work, idiot, where do you think I fell off a horse from?"

"I told you to get off," Tom said in a panicked warning, fearing Harry could feel his still rock-hard member trapped between them.

Harry slapped his hands away and gripped his wrists, pinning them over his head. "No, make me," he taunted, grinning from ear to ear. He dug his knees into the bedding, locking them at Tom's sides. "Ooh…It's too late to hide what you were doing now, I felt it, lech. Who are you thinking of?"

 _Oh, please no…_ 　Tom attempted to will his arousal away. But feeling Harry this close and watching his little pink tongue play along his lip only made it worse. "I'm not thinking of anyone. You know goddamn well it happens to all men. There have been plenty of times when I've caught you with—"

"Oh, so you're a man now. Ha! Is it Walburga? Gods, please tell me it's not her. She only fancies you because you're a Prefect. Maybe it's that girl with the glasses…I'll bet you like them smart and near-sighted… Or—Minerva! Ah, yeah, I'll bet it's her." Harry was closing the distance between their faces as he leaned in and pressed his forehead against Tom's. He was looking into his eyes, looking fractious; addling the focus that Tom had fought so hard against. He was teasing him on purpose. It was clear now that Harry was jealous.　 _Jealous._ 　"Whoever they are, don't let them take you away from me like those blokes at school do. I don't think I could stand— _Tom!?_ "

 _"Shh."_ Tom turned the tables, forcing Harry onto his back. Kneeling between his thighs, Tom overpowered him quickly. He took his slender wrists in one hand, shoving them over his head.　 _"No one will ever come between us, Harry—I only want you."_

Harry gasped at the shift in power, finding himself in the exact position he had his brother seconds before. He was quite out of breath and staring into Tom's eyes with wonder. Before he could think of what to do or say, Tom's nose was touching his. Harry’s eyelids fluttered closed and his lips parted in a sigh. Yes, he was going to kiss him and he wanted Tom to kiss him.

There was no turning back, no stopping himself now. Tom pressed his lips against Harry's. Their soft tongues touched; timidly, at first, then scraped along the other with stringent need. Harry's chin tipped up, offering his lips and his tongue to the older boy's demands. Tom cupped him at the nape of his neck to bring him closer. A light moan passed between them as little jolts of pleasure struck at his nerves. It felt so good to gain so much attention after nearly dying for it for so long. Whatever Tom wanted, it was his. Harry's arms had slipped around Tom’s neck while his sweet mouth arrested every screaming thought of how wrong this act really was.

Eyelids parted and Tom froze inside, his own mind swirling with obscurity. A flush of guilt and horror flooded out from deep within as he focused in the dark to see his brother’s face beneath him. "No… I didn't. Fuck," he breathed, dropping Harry onto the mattress to look upon the hands that had held the boy so closely moments before. He sucked in a great breath; unsure of what had just happened to make him lose his strong will, knowing he had lost control. He slammed his fist against the wall. He wanted to tear his own eyes out. "Fuck! I'm so… I'm so sorry, Harry. I didn't mean for that…"

Harry was glowing red with embarrassment. He covered his eyes with the balls of his hands to block out the vision of his angry brother. "Its okay, Tom, really," he whispered back urgently. Why was Tom so irate? What they had done was so exhilarating…"It was just kissing. Please don't be angry anymore."

"No, it's not okay. I didn't mean it. If anyone found out… no one can ever know," he murmured under his breath. "It's not acceptable. We can't tell anyone."

Harry curled around him, draping that ever-so-long leg over his hip and an arm about his chest. He tucked his chin in the crook of Tom's neck and sighed. "I won't tell anyone, I promise." He brushed his lips against his earlobe, something he had always done to soften the other boy up, but Tom stiffened against him.

"Just go to sleep, Harry. Forget it happened."

With a nod, Harry closed his eyes. Whatever Tom thought, whatever they've been told about boys being with other boys, no matter how bad it was supposed to be - it felt very right.

* * *

It had been a week since he had last seen Harry, but he still could not face him – not yet.

Tom dipped his quill into the inkwell at his side and wrote down his thoughts on the latest incantation him and his "friends" had in the works. "This shield spell I've created is powerful enough, so it seems. The elements it calls are bonded like steel, nothing is getting past. We've tested it over thirty times without anything slipping through. I'd say it's better than a counter-curse if you're prepared enough."

Dolohov and Nott were standing several steps apart, wands at the ready, conjuring large silver shields on their forearms with unspoken spells each time the other was fired upon. Avery rolled his eyes in frustration. He did not want to believe that something as simple as a wordless spell could act as an effective safety against the worst Unforgivable there was. "Yeah, but who's willing to test it on a Wizard, Lord Voldemort? Setting a shield against a wall is fine; having someone conjure one out of thin air while the killing curse is being cast upon them is quite another thing."

Tom raised a hand to look at his fingernails, unscathed by the lack of faith a few of his followers had in him. "We could test it on a Muggle… or on you." He lowered his hand and fixed his eyes on the older student. "Yeah, we'll test it on you."

The sound of something very loud, like a rock hitting a metal pot, resounded through the room as a Stinging Spell hit one of the shields. Avery nearly leapt from his skin. "Er… testing the blockage on a Muggle would probably be better," he conceded, shaking in his seat. He had no wish to die any time soon. "And then we can test the ability to conjure it after we're sure the spell can be successfully hindered."

A gasp caught Tom's attention. "Lord Voldemort, there's someone just outside the wards!" exclaimed Lestrange, watching a cloaked figure peering back at him through the supposed invisible barrier to the boys' secret corner in the rear of the Junk Shop. "He shouldn't be able to see us!"

Tom stood up and waved to the boys to stand back. "What do you want?" he said to the man who stood facing him with only a thin layer of pulsating magic between them.

"Look at you, already a leader of such fine Wizarding stock." The man lowered his hood and shook out his silver-white hair. "You remember me, don't you, Tom? I need a word." He held no wand; he stood defenseless before him. Tom was amazed at how clearly an image of this man was burned into his mind. This was someone important, although he could not put his finger on how he knew.

The magical barrier between them dissipated. Lestrange and the rest of the cronies moved toward the back wall. Draco Malfoy snickered at their cowardice, and added, "Alone, please."

Dropping into Tom's chair while the sixteen year old ushered the others out of the shop and propping his feet up on the edge of the desk, Draco grabbed up a quill and began doodling on the extensive research they had been working on. "You've got a problem needing fixed," he said absently. "A big one."

"And who are you to tell me this?" Tom hissed as he locked the door to the shop and returned to his desk. "Who the hell are you?"

Draco grinned charmingly. "I'm your mummy's guardian angel, of course."

"Course," Tom repeated, looking irked. He rested on the chair opposite of him, aghast at the scribbles covering part of his work. "What is this problem you mentioned?"

"Do you know where your brother's been going every day over the last four summers, Tom?" Draco had yet to make eye-contact with him; instead, he remained focused on the sketch he was working on. "Has it occurred to you that he's been avoiding your home as much as you have, and for bigger reasons than you have? I do understand how important the journey into finding immortality is to you, but the cost will be steep if you lose him."

Tom's eyes narrowed. This man knew far more than he was letting on. How did he know any of his work, and why had he mentioned Harry? "What do you mean?"

Draco shrugged lazily. "Perhaps you need to go home and visit with your mother. She hasn't seen either of her children for days…"

"Harry hasn't come home? How do you know this?" Tom demanded. He stood up and gripped his wand. "Look at me. Have you done something to—"

Draco shook his head, yet still refused to look the boy in the eye. "I'm merely a messenger, Tom. Your brother is quite safe… in fact, he's probably a lot better off where he is now than where he was when you abandoned him." He turned, facing Tom eye to eye at last. "That doesn't mean he should be there, though. The key to immortality lies within Harry. If you lose him, you lose everthing."

As if he had been doused in ice water, Tom shivered at the truth in the man's words. "I should go see her, then?" he asked Draco, watching the man stand up and move toward the door. "She'll know where Harry is?"

"I'll see you again shortly. You’re going to need help with this one. Your greatest failure has always been your lack of considering the obvious. We're not going to allow that to happen again." Before Tom could ask anything else, Draco walked through the door, and was gone.


	6. A Riddled Affair

"He cleaned up quite well. You can hardly see the little rogue left in him."

"Tell me about it. He's going to earn me that spot on the town committee. Everyone worth a lick of spit is chirping on about my kindness for allowing the little urchin inside my home. Honestly, all the old cows in the village stop and pinch his cheeks. Cecelia's damn near fallen in love with him and my mother can't stop playing with his curls. That child is the only good thing that came from that bitch that ruined my life."

The middle-aged man sitting across from Tom Riddle mocked sympathy through a titter as he sipped at his tea. "My goodness what a scandal that was. They should string the lot of them up for practicing witchcraft and their pagan devil-worship rituals on innocent folk such as you. Ever notice how all of the farmers in the area claim their livestock flourished again once that vile creature, Marvolo, kicked the bucket?"

Riddle laughed in a morose manner. "What are you insinuating, old chap? You think he had something to do with their slaughtering?"

"Oh, he was a mad one, all right. Deformed, too. I wouldn't put it past any of them. Burns the hairs in my nose just thinking on it."

"Is it any wonder that uh… er…? Henr…Harl… Hhhharry. Yes, Harry doesn't want to go back, not that he has any choice; I've taken the liberty of having papers drawn up to procure full custody of him and I've enrolled him at Harrow School. I'm such a good daddy, Marvin, the boy is absolutely smitten with me."

Tom Riddle waved to Cecelia and Harry as they trotted past him and his business associate in the back gardens. The riders were wearing matching polo shirts, jodhpurs and high boots, and waved back at the men cheerfully. Riddle took a long sip from his teacup and set it on the saucer with perfect refinement. "He's a natural. Celia says he could show with another year's practice. I guess he turned fourteen or something about a week ago. Who knows, who cares. Anyway, I gave him that horse, Matilda, as a birthday present."

"Blimey, that was mighty kind of you, Riddle."

"Right, well, he doesn't have any desire to return to his little shack now so it served its purpose. He's stayed on here over the last four days."

Marvin gasped perilously. "And none of them Gaunts have come to collect him?"

Riddle chuckled deeply in return. "Oh, they have: That Morfin character. I was going to have him arrested this very morning for refusing to vacate the grounds but he slithered off before the constable arrived. They're on the lookout for him."

"We can only hope that they apprehend him," the man said with a smirk.

"Quite right."

~@~

It had plagued Harry for days, these ill thoughts running through his head. He rubbed his scar to dull the annoying prickle needling at him all morning. It was selfish to stay in such a place and feel happy about it. He was not fully content but everything else paled in comparison.

Mr Riddle was careful to veil his emotions around Harry; there was a sense the distrust whenever the man approached. As disconcerting as it was, Harry understood Tom Sr.'s loathe for anything magical or of relation to Merope or Morfin Gaunt. His mother had duped the man, poisoned his drink with Amortentia in foolish hope of fashioning a life for herself without thinking of him, thusly creating two more lives who unjustly suffered from poverty and abuse for no good reason at all.

And Morfin was just a plain old bully.

For two solid weeks Harry spent dawn to dusk with the man, and over the last four eves he finally took his father's advice not to return home. He missed his mother and Tom in a way that tugged very hard at his heart. He worried incisively about his mother's wellbeing while living without either of her children. Maybe Tom had finally gone home, but if he had why hadn't he come to fetch him?

Now, finding himself locked in his room for the night as punishment for spewing a slew of foul vulgarities at Mr Riddle, Harry sat on the edge of his gigantic bed with his head propped on his fists. The man was mad if he thought he could stop him from returning to Hogwarts. Harry wanted to be angrier, to kick things and break stuff until everything was in a million pieces but he wasn't. In fact, it was almost flattering to think that someone actually cared enough about him to want him to have a finer education and worry about how dangerous what he thought was the devil worshiping going on inside Hogwarts.

Not to mention that Riddle had seen the scars, the welts, the snake bite and the spot on Harry's head that refused to scab properly. He was no fool to think that Harry was as clumsy as he had claimed to be.

" _No son of mine will be treated poorly by those filthy creatures. The authorities are in search of Morfin Gaunt as we speak and I will be pressing full charges against him once they apprehend him,"_ 　Riddle had said. Harry hoped he meant it. Morfin in prison sounded like a fine idea to him.

He was finally away from all of that fear, that pain, the trouble. No one laughed at him in town anymore. No one called him 'the Littler Rogue' or threw things at him, spit on him, but the sacrifice was hard to swallow. Mr Hitchens trusted Riddle about as far as he could throw him. Mr Hitchens was a wonderful, kind Muggle. He warned Harry about his father's real reason was for keeping him on, giving him insight to what lay beneath the sudden bout of kindness.

As naïve as Harry was he also understood give and take. If Riddle wanted a showpiece for profit then he would have one. He would give Tom Sr. the perfect son, and would take from this man a life of promise. That was the Slytherin way. But giving up Hogwarts was not going to be part of the deal.

A sharp knock at the door disrupted the boy's thoughts. "Yes?" he said in a small voice, feeling his veins pump with adrenaline. He was going to be scolded and had to take it like a man and keep his language clean in the process. "Keep your mind now," he told himself. "Don't let him win. Don't let him get one over on you." The boy did not fancy the idea of holding a hunk of soap in his mouth for five whole minutes as he had been threatened with no matter how badly the curse words were dying to fly.

He sat up as he watched his father enter the room and close the door behind him, and his eyes narrowed in wait for the confrontation. "I'm not going to Harrow School so save your breath," Harry blurted, vexed. "I have a full scholarship at Hogwarts. It's one of the finest schools in the world for my sort. Tom won't allow you to do—"

"Save the speech," Riddle replied. He put his back to the door, leaning against it as if to keep Harry locked in there forever. He appeared inebriated with spirits, his words slurred. "You're going to Harrow and that's that. Winston Churchill went to Harrow, I went to Harrow, and now you're going to be the newest Harrovian. They'll make a man out of you and for God's sake you need it like no other, you little molly."

 _Hurray, another swipe at his lack of masculinity._ 　Harry shrugged, having grown numb from the unvarying innuendo. "Fuck Winston Churchill and Harrow School and fuck you," he said flatly, and listened as the lovely resonance of fingernails scratched into the wood of the door the man was leaning against. Harry had never used the word 'fuck' so effectively before - or at all, to be sure. It was one of Tom's chosen obscenities that tore his mother to pieces whenever it slipped past his lips - and the effect was near spot on with Riddle.

The true test now would be whether the man standing in front of him could stay in control. Harry kept sniffling from a little cold he had caught, looking completely youthful and adorable in his ruby velvet knee pants, ripe with angst on the edge of his bed. A bit of worry pricked at his heart as he watched those dark eyes narrow to slits. He may have gone too far and would catch a thorough beating, but it was worth it.

Riddle relaxed his muscles after a moment of silent contemplation, letting his head loll to the side and a smirk matching Harry's curled his lips. He seemed to be enjoying this row as much as the boy. Perhaps being a father, to him, was not as life-restrictive as he once thought. "You've got a fire inside of you yet. I like that, Harry. Perhaps you're slightly less of a queer than I first thought."

 _Whatever._ 　Harry perked up. "Does that mean I can return to Hogwarts?"

"No."

Harry stiffened back into position, folding his arms over his chest for added drama. So this was what it was like to have a father. He didn't hate it and he didn't want this dispute to end. The little hairs on his arms stood straight up. Riddle was nothing short of bemusing. If only Tom could be there to feel the difference Harry felt at that very moment; to experience how utterly delightful and downright bizarre it was to play house with someone sane. He curled his fingers around the bedding he was sitting on, fearing he might float away.

"You're going to…er…do that thing that children do when er… sit in your room all day… punished, whatever. No dessert, no horse tomorrow. Right," Riddle mumbled through an odd bout of hand gesticulations. "So umm… brush your teeth and all that, tuck in."

Harry huffed loudly as he stomped over to the adjoining room, slamming the door behind him. He flopped over the basin and looked at himself in the large golden framed mirror hanging on the wall. As strange as it was, and Merlin was it ever strange, he smiled as brightly as he could remember smiling. He felt at home.

~@~

"…near sick to death. How could you do this to her? Oh, wake up already!"

Harry groaned at the intrusion to his lovely dreams and attempted to roll onto his side but found out quickly that he couldn't. He opened his eyes in rude awakening and squeaked as a hand clamped solidly over his mouth.

Tom was sitting straddled over him. He was dressed in all black, camouflaging him with the darkness of the room. The anger he was portraying was genuine, not the mock father figure angle Riddle had used. He struggled to hold Harry in place while he fully awoke. "Stop it! It's just me!" he hissed in an angry whisper.

Harry peeled Tom's hand away, bending his fingers back as painfully as he could. "What are you doing?" he hissed back.

Tom tensed up. "That's my question to ask　 _you_ , idiot. Why are you here?"

"I live here now!"

"Oh, you live here now, do you? We don't have time for this!" Tom yanked Harry up by the arms and pulled him off of the bed. He gazed around the room, squinting to adjust to the lack of lighting. Each individual piece of furniture within the borders of the flocked walls looked to cost more than everything combined in their squalor of a shack. It was elegant and tasteful, exactly as Tom imagined it to be. His nose crinkled with revulsion. Uncaring what Harry was clad in, whether it pyjamas made of pure silk or his skivvies; as he currently was; he pushed the smaller boy toward the door to remove him from this wretched hive of expense forever.

Harry was wriggling around like a toddler to snake out from his clutches. About bloody time! Tom had finally arrived to bring him back. It was revitalizing to feel him so close again, to hear him demand that he return. His heart was thumping so hard, he felt every blood-pumping vein might burst apart. There was only one teeny tiny little problem. “I’m not leaving.” He thrust a hand in front of him, gripping the frame of the bed to put a hasty end to his brother's actions. "I don't want to go back home!"

Tom winced as if he were stung and held a finger to his lips. "Keep it down, you bunny, you're going to wake someone up! If I had known you were going to do this, I would have just given you the- Oh, move, go!"

"Why can't you and I just stay here? Stop it, Tom," Harry protested, smacking wildly at his brother's insistent body bumping to get him moving. "He'd take you in, too!"

"Stay here?" Tom was taken a back. The urgency to get Harry out of the room flapped its fiery wings and flew out of his already teetering conscience. He stood there, arm still clamped around Harry like anchored rope, with his mouth hung open in surprise attempting to fathom why anyone would willing want to live among Muggles. His other hand moved on its own, cupping the boy on the forehead to check for illness. "Have you got a fever?"

Harry exhaled a hot breath of frustration and curled his fingers around Tom's to dislodge them. "Look, Tom," he said gently, "its three meals a day, the rain won't splatter in your eyes while you sleep and it's so quiet. Mr Riddle might be a bit of a tit but—"

"Traitor," Tom growled. He felt Harry lock his body in place as his grip tightened on him. "Have you forgotten what a nightmare he made our lives in the village? Muggles spit on us, on mummy, called her awful names, told her they would put us in an orphanage and turned their noses at us when she cried her eyes out and pleaded for them to leave us alone. Mr Riddle instigated all of that! How can you forgive a man who put us through hell? Let's not even get into why you were confined to this room when I got here – like a prisoner."

"I don't forgive him!" Harry clarified quickly, looking horrified by this slap-in-your-face reminder. "I don't even like him, Tom, I just… well, he locked me in for calling him a- he didn't do it out of spite and he didn't hurt me. He did it so I wouldn't run away, not because I was in his way. Mummy did it for very different reasons and you know it!"

Tom pulled a sharp breath and slapped a hand back over Harry's noisy mouth. "Will you bloody well indulge me in keeping you voice down—please?" Another bout of struggles commenced before Harry gave up and nodded. Tom pulled both of his hands back, holding them up in peace. "I won't leave again if you come home, I promise."

Harry let out a dejected sigh and closed the door. He flipped the light switch on the wall and leaned back against it. Tom was so bloody handsome it was almost hard to look at him without swooning. He loved him, worshiped him. He missed him so much. Harry sniffled and rubbed his nose, ashamed of himself for disrupting everything around him when all he wanted to do was fit in. If only it was him that kept Tom home and not his mother's loneliness or Morfin's insanity or Tom's hatred for Mr Riddle.

Harry's eyes welled up. He looked away, hugging himself for comfort. "You don't have to do that. I would never expect you to stay home on my account. I know you don't love me. You can't even look at me without getting angry. I'm not good enough for you. I'm not good enough for Morfin or Mr Riddle and I'm sorry if I burdened your life by following you around all the time."

"Harry," Tom breathed, scrunching his features with confusion. "What are you saying? You never…"

Two fat tears trailed over Harry's cheeks. He turned his head and wiped them off on his forearm. "I just wanted you to notice me. I didn't try to be less than what you needed in a brother; I just am and I'm sorry. I'm going to stay here. Mr Riddle doesn't like me but at least he pretends to."

Tom took a closer step but Harry drew back from him. He froze, feeling drained of lifeblood. How could he have let this go so far as to allow Harry to think for one moment that he meant nothing to him? How could he not understand how difficult it was to distance himself from the one thing in the whole world he wanted to be closest to? Tom could not remember crying before and he refused to let that happen then but the pain clutching the edges of his heart, making it hard to breathe, crinkled his chin. "You've got it wrong," he said softly, taking another careful step closer.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Have I?"

"Yes!" Tom half-shouted. He slipped his arms around Harry's waist, pulling him in close, hugging him to his chest. "I love you. Don't ever let me hear you say any different, Harry. You mean everything to me. And mummy’s dying for you to come home. She hasn't stopped crying since you left. "

"Is that true?"

"I swear to Merlin it's true."

The sweet melody of Harry's uneven, ragged breathing and the sudden shift of weight against him as Harry's arms came up and circled his waist, filled Tom with a peace he had not expected. They stood together in silence while Harry regained his composure, letting the last of his tears cascade down his cheeks and disappear into the soft material of Tom's shirt.

“Tell her I love her. Tell her I’m okay.”

It was unfortunate that Harry felt like this, something that would need to be righted; Harry was uncertain of himself, feeling unworthy of the people around him. This was simply unacceptable. No one – not Riddle or Morfin nor anyone at school was as fine a human being as Harry. None of them even deserved to be graced by his presence and they were the ones who had caused this.

Of course Harry would need to be removed from this manor, and now. Spending another minute under this roof would only serve to lessen his diminished spirits. Tom's ultimate goal for being there came back into mind and pushed the emotion away, set to finish. "So you’re just set to stay here? You going to put up a fight?" he whispered into Harry's bed-mussed hair.

Harry looked up, astounded. "What?"

Tom pulled away, taking a step back. Using magic here was not an option,　 _not yet_. Tom had to maintain a level head, keep his emotions in check and not lose any semblance of control over the situation no matter how pretty Harry looked trembling before him with his pleading green eyes. "I feel weird standing here talking to you with no clothes on. Please get dressed."

Dawn was nearing, evident by the lightened windows and the sounds of bustling about on the floor below them. He reached into his pocket, touching the vial of liquid given to him directly before his arrival at the Riddle House. It would be difficult to get Harry to drink it without stirring the staff below. People were awake, they would hear him now. Draco Malfoy had been right. He should have just administered the drug before he woke the boy up but finding Harry locked inside his room had given Tom the false impression that he was being held captive and would have come willingly.

Dizzied with obscurity, Harry absently nodded. As he pulled a shirt on over his shoulders, Tom looked out the second story window and quickly spotted the silver-haired man glaring back up at him from the garden. Draco gestured hotly for him to hurry; tapping his wrist with a finger and waving for him to get a fucking move on. "So, umm… what do you think, Harry? Will you please give me another chance?" He moved around behind the boy and took the collar of his shirt to straighten it. The vial was cupped in his palm, uncorked.

Harry curled into his warmth as he threaded the pearl buttons and reached for his trousers. "Merlin, no. You should stay here. I think if you just gave him a chance you might like him. I don't fancy staying on with Morfin another minute. Mr Riddle took me to a doctor last week, had that cut on my scalp stitched because it wouldn't close up. I don't want it—" Before he could utter another word, something hard, made of glass smacked against his front teeth and a foul tasting substance coated his tongue as it slid toward the back of his throat. Tom's hand gripped him at the jaw, forcing his head back while he held Harry tight to the crook of his stiffened form. Without swallowing a drop Harry's muscles slackened on their own, halting any and all attempts to spit the remainder out or struggle to free himself. He collapsed and was lifted up, still but barely conscious and quite unable to speak or budge even a finger.

Throwing the window open the instant he dropped Harry on his bed, Tom looked down at Draco with urgency. He tossed Harry’s trousers down. "It's done. Get up here and help me sneak him out!"

Draco willfully kept himself from shouting. This younger version of his master, brilliant as he was, did not think things through properly. "You were supposed to give him the potion and have him out a long time ago." He looked behind him as a carriage passed on the road off at the end of the property. He chewed anxiously on his bottom lip. "We just ran out of time. Drop him out the window. He's a wizard, very resilient to long falls. He'll be fine."

"You’re mad! I am not dropping him. I'll lower him out and you will catch him." The direct order, sounding so much like his current self, stunned the Death Eater. Without hesitation Draco moved under the window in preparation.

Harry groaned lightly as Tom slid his hands underneath him, lifting him up. He was asleep now, blissfully unaware of the happenings around him. Tom held him up on his shoulder, coddling him and petting his hair as he walked over to the escape route. As carefully as he could he lowered Harry out slowly, feet first, bit by bit over the ledge until he was holding him by the wrists and Draco was able to latch onto his ankles. It was difficult. If anyone were to have spotted them it would have looked quite ridiculous and very much like kidnapping.

Tom fought to hold Harry steady, although his arms burned painfully to release him as Draco situated the boy for a proper landing. "Do you have him?" he cried out, fearing his grip would not hold much longer.

"Yeah, let him go," Draco returned and Tom did so, believing in this man once more. As Harry fell, Draco caught him around the middle and stumbled and fell back onto the plush grass beneath them.

With a nervous intake of air into his lungs and not before dropping a dried, blood-stained knife onto the unmade bed, Tom leapt out of the window beside them and landed on all fours.

The sun peeked out over the land, filling the valley below with brilliant light. Little Hangleton had awoken. Draco and Tom each took one of Harry's arms to support his limp form and carried him off toward the woods.

~@~

As his eyes began to adjust to the light – the faces of his family, blurred and distorted, came painfully into view. Harry blinked several times at the horrid visage of Morfin sniffing around him, poking and tugging at the shirt he was wearing. Morfin’s hair was more matted than ever and caked with something muddy, with small sticks and leaves protruding out here and there. It looked as if he were wearing a bird's nest on his head. Tom had gone and done it – he was back in the House of Gaunt. "You've got to be fucking pulling my leg," he mumbled as he tried to sit up, but a hand came down on his chest to shove him back into the bedding.

Merope's face was set. "Harry Morfin Gaunt, you naughty, foul-mouthed little imp, if I ever hear you utter another vulgar word in my presence again I will take a switch to the backs of your legs until you can't walk for a month!"

 _"Where's my knife?"_ 　Morfin growled. Harry squinted to look around the room for any sign of Tom. He rolled off of the bed, away from his mother and uncle to put some space between them.　 _"Don't you run off without giving me my knife, now. I told ya plenty o' times not ta touch it."_

"Where're my spectacles? I can't see a thing," he replied, ignoring the silly question about his stupid knife.

 _"That's a nice shirt. Been with your Muggle daddy doing Muggle stuff, eh? I 'spect he took your wand so you took mine. I want em back; the wand and the knife…" 　_Morfin droned while Merope fretted between them, and Harry groaned in realisation that Tom had probably forgotten his glasses at Mr Riddle's manor.　 _"…not gonna tell you again, runt. Gimme the knife and wand and you'll get off easy. Nail you ta the fucking door, I will. Ya hear me, boy?"_

"What have I told you, you old fool; get away from him."

The trio turned to gape at the door. Tom was standing there now against the frame, glaring back at Morfin; his wand visible in his hand. He was still dressed in a black rollneck and trousers as he had been when Harry first saw him that morning, looking striking and confident. The sky, through the window, had brightened the day like no other. The sun was directly above their home warming the remaining shingles on the roof and framing the gloominess of their bedroom in such a way that Harry cracked a slight smile despite the peculiar circumstances surrounding them. Morfin had shivered under Tom's presence, there was no mistaking that. He was afraid of Tom. Something had changed between them.

A loud banging at the door made Harry jump. Merope squeaked out a gasp but Tom turned his head slowly, as if expecting this abrupt intrusion.

"I wonder who that could be," he murmured softly, pocketing his wand and pushing off of the frame to answer it, and added, "Maybe you should put some trousers on, Harry; I think it's for you."

Morfin pushed past a still dazed Harry, shoving the small bedroom window upward to squeeze his large frame through it. Merope twisted her hands up in her house dress as she swiveled her head around to watch all three males she resided with in mid-action. "Tom, who is it?"

"There 'e goes—through the window!"

Without the clear use of his vision, the blur of dark coated men filling the small home, processing into the bedroom to prevent Morfin from escape startled Harry like nothing other. He backed into his mother for protection as four large men grappled and slipped around and lost their grip on the old wizard's leg. Morfin had escaped.

"He's gone into the woods!"

A large hand clamped down over Harry's shoulder. One of the constables spun him around to face the door as he looked him over for any visible signs of abuse. "This him? He looks all right, Riddle."

"Yes, that's my son. The both of them, actually."

A round of cautious snickering resonated through the house. Harry could feel his mother tense against his backside at the words and at the towering figure standing in the living room pointing to him and Tom. Mr Riddle had come to collect his bounty.

Looking so far out of place inside of the shack that it was almost amusing; Riddle, standing stiffly and dressed to the nines gazed around at his surroundings with a scowl. "Surely this is kidnapping. You saw the evidence, constable. That　 _thing_ 　left a bloody knife on my child's bed! Look around you – this is no place to raise two boys."

"As if you ever cared a lick before Harry got you some notice." Tom's eyebrow arched meticulously as his father turned to face him. The air around the room suddenly cooled several degrees. Tom moved back into the bedroom and stood behind his mother, putting an arm around her waist to keep her knees from buckling. "What is this about?" he asked politely, directing his question to the law enforcement. "We haven't done anything. Can't you see how badly you're frightening this poor woman?"

Ignoring him, the constable pushed Harry through the door and into Riddle's grasp. One of the other officers jerked his thumb back at Tom. "You want him, too?"

Harry could see the cold air setting frost on every surface. His breath was mist. An officer rubbed his arms for warmth.

Tom's concerned visage contorted into hatred seeing Mr Riddle take Harry's arm, gripping it like a vice. "Oh no, just this little one, constable. The unspoiled one of the litter." The air between Tom and his father had turned to pure ice. Merope's heart sank to her stomach at Riddle's ultimate and final rejection.

"And　 _she_ 　should be jailed along with her brother," Riddle said darkly, pointing to Merope with pure disdain. Harry blanched and Tom's eyes flickered with raw emotion. "If any of them come onto my property, I cannot guarantee they'll walk away. Arrest her for harbouring that convict and holding my son hostage."

"No! She hasn't done anything!" Tom cried. "She's sick. You can't do this to us."

"Don't put mummy in jail!" Harry was panting for air as he grabbed at a kitchen chair for support. He no longer wanted to live in the Riddle House, or with Mr Riddle, no matter how fancy it was. Roughly, Riddle hauled him up off of the ground and slung the boy over his shoulder. Harry scrambled to hold onto anything as they left the shack. "Tom, don't let him do this!"

Without his glasses, looking desperately back at him, Harry was sure that his eyes had deceived him. From across the room, struggling to keep their mother from being ripped away and carted off, Harry caught a brief smile curling up on the corners of Tom's mouth. But as quickly as it had come, it was gone.

~@~

Through his eyelids, a flash of green light pierced into the darkness of the cupboard from under the crack of the door. Pain, like no other, pulsed once through his scar. Harry yelped and opened his eyes, wondering if another dream about the unusual colour was the cause. His muscles screamed in protest as he shifted on the cold floorboards to get a better look into Riddle's bedroom. He could hear the man's steady breath fill the silence. Harry's hands were bloodied from pounding against the door for hours, his eyes swollen and red from crying and his throat was raw from screaming. He could not remember exactly when he had given in to exhaustion and fallen asleep, but it could not have been very long.

Another cruel jolt of green and a stabbing blow against his forehead sent Harry reeling backward against the wall of the small enclosure. He cried out and cupped his face, horrified by what was happening to him. Was it another accidental outburst of magic emanating from within, like the one that had shattered Mrs Riddle's ceramic cats earlier in the evening and caused his father to panic and lock him up? He didn't think so, but anything was possible.

The knob to the bedroom door jiggled. Harry held his breath and dropped back onto the floor. Maybe Mr Riddle was awake and might let him out. Artificial light flooded into the room. Harry clenched his eyes shut for a moment and heard the sounds of footsteps tapping on the wooden floor. It was difficult to tell at first of who the figure was. He was standing over his father's bed. He was so tall, poised, with robes seemingly flowing without breeze. Harry's breath hitched with excitement and fear as he realised who it really was. “Tom!”

Glancing at the cupboard to his left, Tom's cool demeanour was in check as he nudged the sleeping man. "Wake up, you filthy Muggle, I’m here to collect Harry."

Tom Riddle rose up in his bed, smirking. "Get the hell out of here," he hissed menacingly. "This is getting ridiculous. I'm going to telephone the constable and have you all put away once and for all."

"No, don't do that!" Harry cried out, punching the door. If anything were to happen to Tom he would die. He could not bear the thought of it. "Don't call them, Mr Riddle, please!"

Tom moved forward over the bed. The telephone clattered noisily across the room, its cord ripped from the wall. Riddle was on his feet, moving aggressively around the bed frame. He was slightly larger than Tom, looming over him as he grabbed the boy and tossed him like a rag doll onto the mattress. Harry could only see Tom's shoes dangling over the side as Riddle ascended upon him.

There were sounds of a horrible struggle; choking gasps, clothing being ripped, grunts of pain. Riddle was cursing, out of breath. The bed shook the floor. Tom was kicking his feet to get any sort of leverage. Harry felt sick inside. He grasped the doorknob with both hands and sobbed. There was a thud. Again, Harry dropped down to peek under the crack and saw Tom lying on the floor clutching his throat, looking back at Harry in horror.

"Harry, you all right?"

"Ye—look out!"

Riddle dropped from the bed, catching Tom by the ankle as he crawled to the cupboard to release his brother. He slid the boy's body back into place beneath him and straddled his hips. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?"

"No, no, no," Harry whimpered for lack of any other word. He could see the life draining from Tom's body. His legs and arms went limp to his sides as his head was pounded repeatedly against the floor.

The knob locking the cupboard shattered like crystal and the door swung open. Harry wasted no time in aiding his dying brother by jumping on the older man's back.

Gulping in a lungful of oxygen, Tom thrust his hand into his pocket and pulled his wand free. He sat up; shoving Harry off of Riddle's back and jammed the wand into the side of the bastard's head.　 _–Avada Kedavra!—"_

With a look of sheer surprise forever etched in his features, Tom Riddle fell to the floor, dead.

Harry was on his hands and knees beside the bed, retching from the third and final jolt from his scar. Tom shakily pocketed the wand and pulled him into his arms. "Oh gods… I didn't mean to kill him," he cried, resting his head on Harry's trembling shoulder. "I'm so sorry you had to see that."

"You killed him? He's dead?" Harry was shaking like a leaf. He tucked his head under Tom's chin.

Tom was white as a ghost. He rocked Harry in his lap until the jitters began to subside. "I'm a murderer. Oh, God, I'm a murderer."

Lifting his head, shaking it to and fro, Harry shushed his older brother. "No, its okay, stop it, Tom. Hush, okay? Stop it, please. He was going to kill you — you had no choice."

"Does it still hurt?" Tom asked, and wiped at a line of blood leaking down his brother's face. The pale, sickened, ‘I'm-a-murderer’ look had disappeared as his attention shifted to the lighting bolt shaped scar. "I thought this might happen. It should heal quickly though. Was it painful? Did it happen at the exact moment I cast the Unforgivable?"

"Yes? Uh, maybe. I don’t know," Harry stammered, confused by Tom's sudden recovery.

Tom helped him stand. "Let's get out of here, alright?" As nice as it was to feel Harry against him, there was a mission to complete; wands to plant, memories to alter and revenge to be served at last. As promised, Harry had taken witnessing murder a lot better than he had hoped. "You have to promise you'll never tell anyone about this. They'll put me in Azkaban for the rest of my life. They won't care that it was self defence."

"No! You had to do it! Surely they'll listen to the reasons why," Harry compelled.

"They'd never believe it. Unless…"

"Unless?" Harry breathed, looking hopefully at the older boy. He did not want Tom to go to Azkaban for anything. "Unless what?"

"No. I couldn't," Tom said, dropping his head. He opened the bedroom door, steering Harry away from the elder Riddles' bedroom. "We could… pin it… you know, on Morfin. I mean, that way they could cart him away instead and we'd be really free. I don't know, it's only a thought. They're going to investigate. They'll figure out that I killed them. If we implanted a memory and Morfin’s wand on him, there's a slight chance… you know, it might work." He held up Morfin’s wand, the one that delivered all three killing curses to the Riddles, and dropped it on the floor.

"Could you really do that? Is that really possible – implanting a memory?" Harry asked him in awe, clenching tighter around his waist as they walked through the dark hallway, "because if it is, that's exactly what we're going to do."

Feeling the weight of the world lift from his shoulders, Tom suppressed the great urge to smile. There was no other like him, Harry was unique. Tom kissed the top of his head. "I love you, Harry. Everything is going to be okay."

The feeling of something being terribly off would not sit right in Harry's mind. All the same, what would it truly matter if the bad men were finally gone and Tom remained? Did it really need to be a concern about how it happened? This was something they had fantasized about for years! There was no love lost for Morfin or Riddle. All Harry ever wanted for Tom and he was a life without these two villains and now it was theirs. He pushed out any last residue of concern and pressed closer to Tom's side as they stepped out into the back garden. "I love you, too, Tom," he whispered, feeling new vitality soar through his veins, "more than anything in the world."

 


	7. Higher Standards

Out of the corner of his eye, Tom noticed the oddly peculiar wizard; his Transfiguration teacher and nemesis of his idol; had been watching him with interest for some time. Albus Dumbledore was sitting quietly, hands folded in his lap and half-moon spectacles perched on his nose to make it appear that he was reading the open book resting on his desk. His eyes, however, in their wretched twinkling-blue were stealthily centred to the exact spot where Tom was writing his essay.

 _He couldn't know, impossible._ 　 _I left no clues behind!_

Someone had broken into the older man's bed chambers the day before, during the afternoon classes. No one had seen or heard a thing and nothing appeared to be missing.

Tom, being the brightest and best in his sixth year class, felt outrage by this strange gawking. Resting his quill on the desk, Tom leaned forward. "Is there something you'd like to ask me, Professor?" Everyone in the classroom turned to look his way, and followed his stare.

"Not at this particular moment, no, Tom," the man replied without a hitch.

"Is there a good reason as to why you're staring at me?"

"Actually, yes," Albus replied.

Tom felt a cold shiver run down his spine _. There's no way he could know_. "Would you care to share this explanation with me?"

Shrugging, Albus adjusted his posture and looked at all of the other students watching them. "That will come in time, my boy."

As life grew more liberated and fulfilling for him and Harry and even their deranged mother, Tom's plunge into darkness began to waver. His once strong desire to fulfill the quest for immortality and power had receded. With each passing day free of Morfin and of his childhood home his mind found joy with more important things. Albus Dumbledore just so happened to be very acquainted with Gellert Grindelwald. He could hardly pass up the chance to find out as much knowledge as he could about the intriguing man - and what he did find was nothing short of amazing.

The bell rang and he packed up his belongings eagerly. He made quick strides to the door to avoid any more contact between himself and the professor. His band of followers was behind him, parting the crowds gathered in the halls with fierce glares and threatening words. No one dared mess with them. Bad things tended to happen to those who did.

A low growl began to form in his throat as his eyes caught sight of Harry and his own crew of sideshow freaks cavorting next to the Gryffindor common room's entrance. The boy was quite popular in his year and did not discriminate when it came to making friends. This infuriated Tom like nothing other. It was a direct violation of his personal ideals. Alas, his warnings for Harry to stay away from the half-wits and Mudbloods and all the rest of the vile creatures in between floated between his ears. He had been counselled repeatedly about this to no avail. Harry did what Harry wanted to do.

Nudging his arm, Minerva McGonagall quietly alerted Harry to Tom's approach. Wide-eyed and completely caught off guard, Harry quickly sheltered himself behind his best mate; the half-giant, Rubeus Hagrid; in hopes that his brother had not yet seen him. "Fuck, I'm dead," he whimpered.

"Harry, language!" Minerva hissed. Olive Hornby mimicked him by hiding behind Hagrid, too. Minerva adjusted her glasses in a stealthy manner to confirm that Tom was, in fact, headed toward them. "Yes, yes, here he comes. Oh, he looks angry and his brood of evildoers is in perfect formation behind him."

Druella looked wholly nervous, but Algie Longbottom puffed his chest out like a great robin and set his fists on his hips. "They don't scare me none."

Hagrid pulled his heavy coat closed to conceal the boy, but it was plainly too late. Watching Tom's glowering visage peek around the large girth, Harry cringed. "Sorry, Minnie—Oh, hey, you, were you looking for me?"

"Hmm, right. Go to my dormitory and wait there for me," was all he said in return. He refused to address the others.

Harry made an apologetic face. "Can't, sorry; gonna hit some practice in like five minutes."

“Quidditch is over. Go to my dorm.”

Minerva flicked the 'Quidditch Captain' badge resting in sparkling perfection on her tartan sash. "Not for us it isn’t. He's going to help us work on some moves we've invented together," she added, smirking at Tom. "He's a real lion at heart, wouldn't you say?"

His fellow Slytherins had gathered around Tom by this time and all of them looked down their noses at the bunch, mostly ignoring the massive boy standing between the two brothers. One of them reached out to grab Harry's arm, enraged that he'd be so crass as to deny such a person but Tom threw his hand out to stop him. "That's quite alright. After practice then," he said calmly, returning Minerva's disapproving sneer. "And you," he said lowly, "encouraging this vile pastime in such a way. Isn't this your last year here, I dearly hope?"

Minerva blinked a few times with stunned silence and then looked down upon her chest and pointed to another badge, one resting beside the Quidditch Captain badge with the obvious 'HG' stamped upon it. "It is common knowledge that they give these out only to persons in their seventh year. I thought you were sharper than that, Gaunt."

With flared nostrils, Tom turned on his heel to stomp away. "Be back directly after practice," he ordered.

"Right," said Harry, hiding a titter behind a hand.

* * *

Shucking off his cleats and robes and letting them fall lazily to the floor, Harry plunged into his brother’s bed to remove the remainder of his uniform. He plucked each sock off and tossed them over the side, then moved to the zip of his Quidditch breeches. Shimmying out of them as Tom entered the dormitory; Harry grinned brightly, balled up the breeches and threw them in brother's face. "You're really mean to my friends but I’m not allowed to cuff any of your henchmen?" He slid his fingers down the length of his shirt to pop the buttons away. "You reported Olive for running in the halls when you let Marius do the same thing this afternoon. And what was that ridiculous fear tactic you tried on Minerva, hmm? Real classy, Tom. She said you were a right prat – and I've never heard her call anyone a name before. Whatever, I'm knackered. She's a tyrant on the pitch."

Tom, having folded Harry's breeches and his own robes as neatly as possible, rested them over the bedstead. He undressed smartly; taking his sweet old time with each article of clothing, balling his socks just right and making sure the pleats of his trousers matched the other. His shoes were placed under the bed by the foot in perfect alignment and he pulled back the sheets to fold them over properly before climbing into bed. Any anger he had felt before had vanished. All he wanted to do was be next to the one person in the world that he cared about.

Harry had closed his eyes by this time, mocking loud snoring while the weight of Tom shifted over beside him. The curtains fell closed, darkening the interior of the bed.

"I put a nifty little Silencing Charm on the curtains that'll activate whenever I climb in to sleep so I don't have to keep reapplying it. I invented it myself just this afternoon. Go ahead, give a scream and see if anyone comes." He gave Harry's ribs a nudge.

"'s not the smartest thing you've ever done," Harry replied shortly, still lying in simulated sleep. "What if you get hurt in here? Who'll hear you calling?"

Tom snorted. "Ah, yeah, I'm so clumsy in bed. I might get injured."

"You will if you don't shut up about how brilliant you think you are," Harry warned.

"It's also impossible to peek in," Tom continued.

“Ooooh!” Harry pounced. “Are you hinting at something?” He pressed his lips to Tom’s before he could register what was happening.

Tom shoved him back. “We talked about this! It’s wrong.”

Another pounce, hands trapped under knees, clacking teeth. Moans of protest diminished.

Harry grabbed the older boy’s chin good and hard. “Kiss me back, Tom. You know you want to.”

 _Yes._ “No.”

Undeterred, Harry ground his knees into the older boy’s hands causing Tom to yelp. He dove in, tasting the mint on his brother’s tongue and feeling it stroke back against his in response. Tom groaned pathetically under Harry’s vanquish, feeling the warmth of arousal wholly pervade his skin. It wasn't that he didn't want Harry touching him again – he did, badly – God, he loved it but that familiar jolt of insecurity moved through his arms and made him struggle to free himself. Feeling hot breath cascading along the line of his jaw, he shivered without control. He shouldn't have mentioned the silencing spell, he knew this would happen.

“We’re going to take this too far. We need to stop.”

 _"Shh, I'm trying to kiss you,"_ Harry replied in Parseltongue and Tom wavered beneath him. Harry returned the other boys’ hands to his sides and smiled that beautiful, lopsided smile of his as he leaned in again and pressed his lips to his victim’s lower lip. He closed his teeth on it, giving it a gentle tug. Tom locked his jaw. Harry dabbed the tip of his tongue on his bared teeth. Their lips were pressed lightly together. Blissfully, the tense muscles relaxed. He felt the older boy become pliable beneath him. _“Be a good lad, open your mouth.”_

Tom whimpered pathetically. He was confused and heady with lust, making it difficult to control the situation. “Why are you doing this? Haven’t you been avoiding me? I’m sure you’ve been avoiding me.”

 _He was._ 　Harry turned his head to the side as Tom eased back into the bedding. "Course I'm not," Harry said, hiding his lie as he wriggled around to get comfortable. A silly smirk flirted with his lips. "I've been busy, you've been busy. I didn't want to bother you."

"What bother? Don't be stupid." Tom clipped him lightly on the cheek to right his head. "Fine. Just tonight, just this once. But no one can know about this. You can never tell anyone, not even that giant."

“That’s what I wanted to hear.”

Their limbs became a tangled mess. Lying side by side, Harry's right thigh was sandwiched between Tom's legs, the other rested on top. With their tongues twisting and sliding around between their lips, fiery, almost desperate, both boys began to fall to the passion.

“Oh!” Tom yipped as something very important popped into his head. "Guess what I found out this afternoon."

"What?" Harry groaned, frustrated.

Curling into him to lean on an elbow and loom just so over Harry, Tom hummed seductively in his throat. He trailed a lazy finger around his brother’s chest. "Okay, I maybe did something slightly illegal but it was really worth it." – he kissed Harry to stop him from nagging him about the _‘illegal’_ part. – "I broke into somebody’s chambers to find out anything I could about their past. I found a journal and all of these letters. Love letters.”

“And?”

“So, the all powerful Grindelwald, my personal hero," – he kissed him again to stop his brother from whining about him mentioning Grindelwald  – "was right old faerie."

Harry sighed, tipping his head back and digging his nails into Tom's lower back. "That's lovely, really."

Tom snickered wickedly. "Now guess who he was buggering."

"I don't care about Grindelwald or who he was buggering," Harry growled.

"Ah-ah, guess," Tom repeated, holding up a finger. He looked very pleased with himself. “It’s the one whose room I found the letters in.”

With a heated sigh, Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I don't- no… no way. You're joking, Tom. Don't say it!" he exclaimed, finding it hard not to giggle once more at the thought of who Tom was bursting to shout. He pressed his hands over his ears just as the name was yelled.

"Dumbledore!"

Harry winced dramatically, clutching his chest as if he'd been shot. "No! I told you not to tell me!"

"It's true!"

"Gods, that's just- he’s so- You know, like a saint or something! Yech!"

"Imagine that," Tom continued in a lesser enthusiastic and more sensual tone, "two of the most powerful living wizards—queer together. And they've kept it secret all this time."

The giggles died off as Harry began to understand what his brother was saying. If Dumbledore and Grindelwald could keep their relationship secret, could truly be themselves and still remain the most feared and adored wizards of their time then so could they. "Tom," he whispered through an unsteady breath, reluctantly allowing the larger boy to wiggle his way between his thighs. Tom pulled him into his arms, lifting him off of the bed at the nape of his neck to press their trembling lips together once more. Harry pushed up on his elbows, so afraid his muscles were too shaky to hold him up.

“But,” Harry whispered, suddenly wary of the new information floating around in his head. “They hate each other now. Grindelwald is an outright villain.”

Tom huffed, wounded. He fell back against the mattress and punched the bedstead for added drama. "Are you serious? He’s the villain? You’ve got it backwards, idiot." He stared angrily up at the canopy, "Dumbledore is wicked and strange. He watches me all the time like I shouldn’t be here."

"He does not! And he’s the nicest professor in this school. Everything I’ve heard about Grindelwald turns my stomach." Harry was glaring at him now, with his arms tightly crossed over his chest. “What if we end up like them?”

“Oh, so I’m a villain now, too?”

Harry swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean that-”

“I suppose that makes you the good guy. Well if that’s how you feel-”

“I don’t! I was thinking about how they hated each other!”

“You hate me now?”

“Troll! I just don’t want us to turn into them!”

Tom rolled onto his other side. “Are you still here?”

Harry’s jaw dropped open. “What?”

Silence.

“Fine.”

Tom glanced behind him. Harry was half off the bed to dress himself. “I’ll let you know when you can come back.”

“Don’t bother.”

“Oh, stop,” Tom said, and reached out to grab the hem of Harry’s shirt. It slipped through his fingers as the other boy jerked away. “Just say you’re sorry for all those things you said and I’ll forgive you.”

“Of all the pompous-” Harry whirled around, holding the curtain up with his right hand and pointing angrily at his brother with his left. “Who do you think I am? I am not one of your lackeys, I will not cater to your bloated ego! You can go stick your head in an oven for all I care.”

Tom flopped back on the bed. “Just go.”

And Harry did just that.

* * *

As the weeks went by, not much had changed between the two brothers. Nothing seemed as frustrating to Tom. For years this had driven him away and kept him apart from the boy but this calling was clear. Now it was Harry's turn at denying this attraction and it hurt something awful. Why did love have to happen and why was it so painful? This natural maturity might take years for Harry to accept. Tom only had one year left in school before it was time to move on. He could not bear the thought of Harry remaining behind here without him, mulling around the scores of silly girls who thought the boy was a real catch.

The journal in Tom's hands quivered. He had found a terrible flaw between the lovers penned inside its pages. They were so young, two years apart and brilliant as they came with ideals that made for the ultimate combine and yet… one did not truly love the other. Tom had no idea why this passage stuck in his mind. It forced him to read it over and over. Why was this so utterly important? Innumerable people throughout history had worked together to achieve goals as great without the need for love. Or had they? A requited love did not necessarily mean the same thing to every match. Maybe love took on more than one form. Was this mystical emotion the key to unlocking something he had overlooked? Had caring about something as Albus Dumbledore had with his family, made him as or even more powerful than Grindelwald?

Any and all thoughts on the subject trailed off as the sounds of persistent tapping broke Tom's reverie. Realizing he was no longer alone in the Slytherin common room he crammed the journal into his robes and stood up. For the first time in his life he looked at the older boy standing wearily before him, who was just dying to tell him something important. He smiled at him. A genuine smile. "Afternoon, Avery."

Avery gulped, having never been received by Tom with any sort of warmth. This meeting would be a lot more difficult than he'd imagined.

"What's the matter?" Tom asked him, spying the concern blanching the boy's features. "Has something happened?"

"Listen," Avery said quietly out of the corner of his mouth, "It's about Harry. Er… your brother's been given a week's detention. Nott just told me. He's gone and done it again and it doesn't portend well with your reputation, you know."

Tom shrugged, looking somewhat annoyed. Why weren't these delivered interruptions ever good news? "Who cares? He’s gotten plenty of detentions-what!?" he shouted, growing more irritated as the other boy fidgeted around him like a nervous rat. "What did he do to get it?"

"He chinned Dolohov for poking fun at that disgusting half-giant in the courtyard! He's making himself trouble if you ask me. Cuffing a fellow Slytherin, someone so loyal to you, Lord Voldemort, should be dealt with. That's all I'm saying."

"What would you like me to do, hmm? Shall I punish him? Tell me what would you like to see done with　 _my_ 　brother." With thick sarcasm in place, Tom glowered menacingly at the seventh year boy.　 _So much for the warm approach._

Avery paled considerably. He shook his head softly, so weary of angering his fellow house mate. He glanced around the room to be sure no other student was yet around and then lowered his voice to a mere whisper to be sure. "No one will take us seriously if this is allowed to carry on,my Lord. Harry and his friends laugh at us. The other students like him, follow him around like he's better than you! They're starting to laugh at us, too. I don't see how you could want this to carry on."

"Hmm," Tom hummed while scratching his chin in thought. Perhaps Avery had a valid point about the lack of respect his followers were receiving. It would not bode well to lose any amount of fear he had instilled upon the weaker of their peers. Harry was defiant, a silly-heart, a freer spirit than he had been in the past. His life at Hogwarts exploded with promise. To think that a Slytherin could befriend such a motley crew of rejects and cherish their company was beyond Tom's grasp. It occurred to him that perhaps he had again allowed his brother's fate to move too far to one edge.　Something dark swelled within. Tom looked back at Avery with no hint of emotion showing on his face. "Sod it. You should teach him a lesson."

"Me? Harry?" Again, Avery felt the remainder of blood pool from his face. His hands went cold. "What do you mean?"

"Yes, you, Nott, Dolohov. Why don't you do something about this and take him down a peg? His behaviour has indeed gotten a bit messier than I'd hoped. Teach him a valuable lesson, remind him where he comes from and who he shows his loyalty to."

Afraid to ask, Avery shifted his feet nervously in place. Tom was so intimidating, so unforgiving and had never asked him to take on a task as daunting before. Any minor mistake could lead to severe punishment or worse; banishment from their house and from the Death Eaters. "Hhhow?" he stammered fretfully.

"Don't do it backhanded, he is my brother after all. I want you three to pool your brains together on this. I don't have the time to waste on it." Tom fell back against the emerald green couch he was so fond of, propping his arms over the top and letting his head loll against the soft cushion. He arched his chest in a stretch, letting the wondrous feeling run down to his toes. "A good scare, an amount of pain. Give him a damn good reason to come crawling back to where he belongs. I want him away from those imbeciles."

"Yes, my Lord," Avery chanted to him and bowed before fleeing from the common room.

It was true; Harry had gotten a little too big for his britches. This served no other purpose than to create more and more problems for Tom. He hadn’t worked on his quest for immortality in weeks. It was suddenly very important again and most likely his silly little brother’s fault. Harry was flirting with weirdos of mixed blood status thinking they were on the same level with Slytherins. Some of them weren’t even fully human. He was always in trouble. He embarrassed their bloodline. He would have to put a stop to this. Avery was right; it was ridiculous and rebellious.

* * *

In the darkness, fumbling with adolescent awkwardness and ignoring the sloppy wet returns between their tongues, Harry pushed himself closer to Druella to feel her body tightly pressed against his. The storage cupboard in the back of the potions classroom was hardly the most romantic place for a good and thorough snogging, but neither seemed to care about a few extra cobwebs or the Murlap essence they were slipping around in. Several bottles of the yellowy goo had fallen to the floor and shattered, making it all the more important for the two to remain as close to the wall of shelves, and each other, as possible.

Druella Rosier was quite possibly the prettiest girl in school. She was short and petite, with light blond hair that cascaded over her shoulders like spun gold. She had a reputation for playing naughty regardless of her betrothing to Orion Black, who just so happened to be Harry's former best mate.

"Gods," he groaned. He reached up to rub the scar on his forehead. The annoying prickle had been plaguing him since their stumbling, mouth to mouth, into the cupboard minutes before.

"I know," Druella mumbled as she reached behind her back to unclasp her brassiere, "It's so warm in here, isn't it? Maybe you could help me with my shirt." Despite the frigid temperature of the small room, the heat between them had exceeded a comfortable level.

Harry nodded to her as his trembling fingers flicked away the buttons of her shirt. He pulled it apart, exposing her encased breasts with his mouth hung open like a fish. Her school tie hung beautifully between the cleavage, sashaying in a lovely way as she returned to working on the bra clasp.

"Help me out, will you?"

A painful jolt of magical pain　hit Harry like a ton of bricks the instant his fingers found the clasp. Nearly blinded in agony, he took a step back and a deep breath while it subsided. "Sorry," he said through a cringe.

"We can do this another time if you're not feeling well," she said, reaching down to retrieve her clothing. "It's all right."

"No, I'm fine," Harry promised, biting his lower lip. He pressed his body against hers before she was given the chance to redress and kissed her softly. She was not Tom, and that suited him well. Tom was a git. Tom was a bastard who kept telling him what to do. This was what Harry needed now, something to take his mind off his stupid brother. It also served to get back at that backstabber Orion. And as their bodies twined together and their lips parted, Harry's scar blissfully stopped hurting.

There was a slight rumbling sound outside that they chose to ignore. Harry found his hands moving along Druella's thighs, pushing the material of her uniform skirt upward. It was terrifying to think too much into his actions. He swallowed hard, praying she could not feel how shaky he was. She was the only Slytherin he knew who was willing to give his friends a chance; he did not want to ruin that.

The door to the cupboard opened and Harry's euphoria plummeted back down to earth with a noisy　 _crash_. "I thought so! I'm telling on you, Harry Gaunt! You are in so much trouble! How dare you two soil Professor Slughorn's stores with this disgusting act of fornication!"

"You ugly, fat snitch!" Druella shouted back as she buttoned her shirt up. Her eyes were glued to Myrtle's, the most annoying Ravenclaw Prefect the school had ever known.

Harry ran a trembling hand through his messy hair and adjusted his awry glasses. Myrtle was incessantly spying on him to get him into trouble. She was an absolute pest. "You're not really going to tell on me again, are you? I'm going to be in detention for the rest of my life at this rate."

Tears welled up her eyes. "You'd better believe I'll be informing Headmaster Dippet of your doings," she said through a sniffle.

Druella shoved past her, knocking her on her bum. "See you later, Harry."

"And I'm telling on you too, Rosier!" Myrtle shrieked.

"C'mon," Harry said, sighing and holding a hand out to the stout girl to help her up. Myrtle took his hand. Her eyes were glistening with tears behind her thick glasses, causing her to look away from the boy she so dearly wished would drag her off into a dark cupboard. "Myrtle, please reconsider. If Tom found out about this-"

"He already knows!" she cried, wringing her hands in her skirt. Her nervous actions were strangely familiar to Harry, the girl reminded him of his mother. "He's the one who sent me to fetch you." She stomped off with her face covered by her hands, wailing like a banshee.

“Wonderful.” Harry willed himself out of the stores and caught sight of Tom waiting at the end of the corridor. Myrtle was whispering something in his ear and he watched his brother’s eyes narrow when he saw him.

"Of course it would be right to inform the headmaster," Tom agreed, his voice dripping with cynicism as he patted the Muggle-born girl on the shoulder. "That was an awful, rotten thing for Harry to do. He simply can’t control himself. And you said that Rosier was half naked?"

With the pinkest face, Harry dragged himself over to his beckoning brother, who wrapped an angry arm around his shoulders. Tom yanked the boy up against his side and clamped a hand around his upper arm to keep him from putting any distance between them. He leaned up against the chubby Prefect to look her in the eye. "And while I do understand your desire to inform him about this depravity, I think," he said softly, tipping his head to appeal to the girl's conscience, hoping it might curb her need to get his little brother into trouble whenever she could, "just this once we'll let him slide. How's that sound, Myrtle?"

"Okay," the Prefect said reluctantly as she glanced downward at her feet. "Just this once."

Tom gave her a wink and a grin. "Good girl. I'll take care of him now. Run along." The moment she moved out of view, Tom threw Harry up against the cold stone dungeon wall. The grin faded. "What were you doing, you little letch?"

Harry rubbed the lump forming on the crown of his head. "There's no need for violence!" he spat back.

“Damn you.” Tom’s voice went soft, wounded. The anger drained away. He pressed his forehead against his brother’s and sighed deeply. “Why do you do this to me?”

“You pushed me.”

“That’s not what I meant. You’re playing these stupid games.” He cringed from a strange ache in his chest. Tears welled up in his eyes. “I don’t feel well. It hurts.”

Harry looked his brother over. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

"I don’t know," Tom whispered. He shook his head. The pain swelled and his chin quivered. He doubled over and emitted a single sob. "I just feel so bad."

“Come on,” Harry said, threading his arm under his brother's, “lean on me. I’ll get you to the hospital wing.” Tom stopped him, pressed him to the wall and kissed him. He was trembling, his nose was runny, his lips taught. He was crying. Panic welled up inside the younger boy. He cupped his face, running his thumbs across his eyelashes to dry them. “What’s happening? Please tell me how can I help you.”

Tom backed up, startled by his own weakness. “I’m okay.” He wiped his face on his sleeve, coughed and adjusted his robes. The hurt had lessened, he was feeling somewhat better. He took Harry’s hand and sniffled. “I’m alright now. Let’s go to bed, okay?”

Harry smiled, relieved. “You’re not angry with me anymore? I can come back and stay with you again?”

“No. I mean ‘yes’! Er something. Uh, sometimes I…” Tom bit his lip. He scratched his head trying to remember why he would ever say something so awful to his brother as he had earlier that week. His mind felt foggy. There was a darkness in his memory that he couldn’t light. The younger boy was staring back at him with wide, trusting eyes. “It’s like sometimes I feel as if I’m not in control of myself. It’s the strangest thing, really.”

“Yeah, sometimes. I feel that way, too.”

The cold dungeon hallway offered nothing in the way of comfort but both boys felt very safe together. “Let’s kip out. I’m exhausted.” Tom turned around and the glint of something reflecting off of glass caught his eye. He looked back and saw her; Myrtle had ducked around the corner. The sounds of her footsteps tapered off and disappeared. She had seen them kiss, she had seen it all.

 


	8. New Emotion

Within the depths of the dungeon, in the dark and dank lowest level, the soft weeping sounds of a girl resounded off of the runny stone walls. The silhouettes of two persons moved deeper into the cavernous bowels until, at last, there was nowhere left to go. A founded fear emanated from her like a wondrous aura. Her wrist burned under the tight grip rubbing against the skin. She was thrust against the wall and her head bounced off the stone.

"Shut the fuck up, Myrtle," Tom ordered as he towered over her to prevent her escape.

The portly girl hiccoughed several times as she attempted to catch her breath. "I told you already- I didn't tell a soul! Please don’t hurt me," she pleaded with him. Her knees knocked together and buckled but Tom quickly righted her by thrusting her back against the wall.

"Yes you did, you stupid twat. I can see it in your eyes. Who did you tell?"

Myrtle's blubbering was almost too much. Tom felt a powerful pull to shut her up permanently but that would not do. He needed to know who and how many she had blabbed to before the word got out around to the whole school. Instead, giving her a quick dose of the Cruciatus Curse seemed more reasonable to him and he did just that.

He leaned back against the end of the tunnel and picked at a fingernail while the girl recovered on her hands and knees. A gaudy gold ring sat upon his middle finger, the large black stone set in the centre glimmered from the reflection of his lighted wand tip. "You ready to tell me yet?" he asked her quietly, unwilling to look up from the little hangnail giving him such agitation.

"Mina Bulstrode," she said - and retched on the floor.

Tom scowled. "That cow? She'll tell the whole school."

Myrtle shook her head adamantly. "She won't! I swore her to secrecy!"

"Look at me," he said, kneeling to her level. He lifted her chin and gazed deeply into her eyes. "Are you telling me that you've snitched to only Mina and no one else?"

"Yes, I promise," Myrtle whimpered and Tom believed her.

He pointed his wand at her, feeling quite relieved.　 _"–Obliviate!—"_

~@~

_"You are mine."_

Harry flinched, rubbing his scar. "Professor Merrythought?"

Galatea Merrythought, professor of the Defence Against the Dark Arts class, looked up from her papers. Her piled-on, silver-streaked hair bobbled as her head stilled. She peered at the boy through pointy, rhinestone embedded glasses. "Yes, dear?" Her voice was gruff and sultry, fitting quite well with her sluggish demeanour.

Harry pointed to the clock on the wall indicating that his detention had come to an end. "Can I go now, miss?"

The elderly woman propped herself up to look over her desk at the parchment Harry had been writing his lines on. "Have you learned your lesson, then? You never strike another student. No matter what. You go to a teacher and let them deal with it. Am I to be understood?"

"Yes, miss. I won't do it again," Harry replied in earnest.

"Good, I don't want to see you in detention for the rest of the year. People will start to talk about how much time we're spending together." She cocked an eyebrow as Harry burst into a fit of embarrassed giggling while he packed his things away. "I mean it, Harry. You're behaviour may affect your marks if you don't settle down soon. Also," she added, holding up a finger to stop the boy before he dashed from the room, "I haven't gotten a reply from your parents yet. I sent off an owl over a week ago to discuss this excessively naughty behaviour of yours and no one has responded."

Harry closed his gaping mouth and clutched the handle of his bag as hard as he could. "I'm sorry, miss," he stammered, "My father died over the summer and my mummy's been institutionalised at St. Mungo's for being nutters." There, he said it. He hadn't said it before to anyone and he was certain that Tom hadn't either. It was shocking to find out that none of the staff at Hogwarts knew anything about it.

"And who are you staying on with?" she asked firmly, hiding her shock. "Over the holidays, Harry?"

He shrugged. What did it matter to her where he was staying? "With Tom, miss; we've got a house in Richmond."

"And he's just turned seventeen?"

Harry nodded. He did not like where this questioning seemed to be heading. The woman's smile had faded. She scratched something onto a piece of old parchment while she sized Harry up and down. This was none of her sodding business. "What about your grandparents or other relatives, dear? Is there anyone else I can get in touch with?"

"Er…" Harry stared hypnotically at a spot on the floor. "No, not really. Only got an uncle, but he's in Azkaban Fortress for murdering my father and grandparents, miss."

"Oh my," Merrythought gushed. Her gaunt, hollow cheeks flushed with life. "And there's no one else? You're staying on with your brother unsupervised? Harry, I'm not sure I can allow this to continue. You need proper guidance during the holidays, what with magic and—"

"My brother has been taking care of me since I was a baby, miss," he spat back, growing quickly defensive. What was she insinuating? That Tom and he were running amuck without a care? They had plenty of money now thanks to the Riddle fortune; they didn't need anyone to look after them. So he cuffed a few dunderheads who thoroughly deserved it and tossed some dungbombs into empty classrooms when no one was looking. Big deal. He always finished his homework, studied relentlessly for every exam and even brushed his teeth every night before he went to bed. Tom would murder him for this slip of the tongue. He should have lied. "Can I go now?"

Merrythought nodded reluctantly. "Yes, of course, Harry. Good night."

Tossing his bag over his shoulder, he pushed through the classroom door to get away. He had said too much, he knew that. Oh Merlin he was going to hear it. If anyone started poking around into their pasts and discovered that Morfin had not actually committed the crimes he was being held for… No, he would not think about that. He wished he didn't know. They should have told the truth in the beginning. But Tom Riddle was going to kill his brother. There was no other way to handle it. What was he —?

With a sudden　 _bang_ 　that filled the empty corridor, Harry's legs inexplicably locked together. He plummeted, face-first, to the floor. Seething, he pushed himself up and looked behind. "Ow," he hissed, spotting Cygnus Black and Druella Rosier closing in on him. "What was that for?"

"That was for telling Orion about how　 _you_ 　took advantage of me in the potions stores!" Druella growled. Cygnus shared her dark guise as he put his arm around her shoulder. Her wand was pointed threateningly at Harry's face. "He won't speak to me anymore and his family's broken off our engagement!"

Harry gaped back at her, awed. "I did not tell anyone! I swear! It was probably Myrtle!"

Druella shook her head. "No, it was you – he told me so! Anyway,　 _—Rictusempra!—"_ 　she cried – and a jet of bright light shot from the tip of her wand hitting Harry square in the chest. "That's for snitching!"

Every muscle in his torso tensed to the point of snapping as the jinx assaulted Harry's nerves and skin. He laughed uncontrollably at the sensation, it bringing tears to his eyes as he scrambled to pull his wand from his robes. "Druella don't—oh, bloody hell, make it stop!" he screeched.

"I hope you're sore for a week!" she shouted back, leaving the boy in a writhing mass on the floor. Cygnus snickered, still holding her around the shoulders as they left him to deal with the hex on his own.

~@~

Sitting cross-legged on his bed with a book propped on his bare knees, Tom looked up as Harry dragged himself into his dormitory room and threw himself beside him. Hiding a well deserved smirk, he closed his text and set it down. "Problems, Harry? You look like something the cat's dragged in."

The rest of the Slytherin sixth year boys were glaring at the little bother. Something very strange was afoot. "No, never better," he mocked cheerfully, smiling up at the handsome visage looming above him. He tucked his hands behind his head and stretched his aching muscles to relax.

"Why is he always in here? Why doesn't he sleep in his own dormitory?"

Tom's posture stiffened. "Mind your fucking business, Rookwood."

The pimply-faced boy in the bed across from them gulped.

"He's my little brother and the only family I got left. I want him close to me whenever possible. Do you have a problem with that, you pathetic, fucking troll?"

Harry snorted loudly. Augustus Rookwood stilled his ragged breath and shook his head at Tom with sincerity. "No, that's fine. I'm sorry, Tom. So sorry."

"Yeah, Slughorn doesn't mind so shut up," Harry added and was immediately clipped on the cheek for his outburst. His glare remained fixed on the other boys until Yaxley, Nott, Dolohov and Bagman all averted their attention and closed their curtains. Rookwood followed closely behind with shaky fingers.

Harry reached up and pulled the drawstring to close theirs and turned quickly to face Tom, dropping the tough-guy act and looking even more ragged than he had when he arrived. "We’ve got a problem!"

Tom fell back against his pillows rolling his eyes. "What about?"

Fisting his hair, Harry took a deep breath before spewing his guts out to Tom. "Merrythought's been asking me questions about us and our family. She said I'm too young to be staying on with only you for supervision during holidays. What if she puts me in an orphanage, Tom? What if someone interrogates Morfin and finds out the truth about Riddle?"

"What the hell did you tell her?" Tom hissed viciously.

Harry snarled. "Nothing about that, idiot! I’m not stupid. It was just the way she was looking at me."

Tom sighed. Harry was always so paranoid about everything. "I'm seventeen, plenty old enough to care for you while school is out. I think my sparkling reputation supersedes any old orphanage. If you'd stop getting into trouble we wouldn't have these issues poking up."

"Yeah, it's all come back to bite me on my bum," Harry mumbled. "Just the other day, Minerva accused me of telling Ravenclaw's Chaser about this move we invented, allowing him to one-up her and win the cup. She's not talking to me anymore. Olive Hornby said I was a true Slytherin and ran off crying. I don't even want to think about why. And just now, Drue—er... Orion told someone I did something rather nasty. At this rate I won't have any friends left." He didn’t mention Druella around Tom anymore; it seemed to hurt him more than anger him.

"Oh, who needs them anyway?" Tom fit in between Harry's ramble.

"Funny thing is – I don't get how anyone could have known about that move. We didn't practice it in the open. We worked it out on paper in the library together and practiced it in the Come and Go Room. And Orion said that it was me who told him about- something when I plainly didn't!"

Harry curled into Tom's embrace, clearly dejected. He seemed very frazzled. It was working. Using Legilimency on Harry while he slept had been a wonderful tool to learn all of his secrets. He would never suspect own dear brother of such acts. It was for the best, though. Those cretins that he called friends were causing way too much trouble. Harry was turning into one of them. Now he could concentrate on his studies and stop calling attention to either of them.

"My scar hurts. Please make it go away."

"Course," Tom whispered and cast a wordless spell with his wand. “Come here, lie back.” After folding his brother’s glasses and setting them aside, Tom pressed his thumbs against his brother's temples while the boy relaxed. He caressed the fine skin and baby soft hairs feathered in soft waves of ink black.

With Harry's head tipped back into his lap and his eyes closed, Tom looked at him more closely. He hadn't really noticed how different their features were before. Tom's were more sculpted; his jaw strong, his dark eyes set deep. Harry's features were soft; the tip of his nose was upturned, his lips were bowed and pink and his bright green eyes were almond-shaped. He didn't look like anyone Tom could think of. Certainly not their mother or father; disfigured or chiseled. Perhaps he had taken on Riddle grandparent’s features. Tom hadn't gotten a very good look at them before their demise. "Hey," he whispered, giving the boy a subtle shake. "Let's go to sleep, alright? I'm tired."

"Mhmm," Harry moaned and curled deeper into his brother's arms.

Tom pulled a duvet over them and snuggled in. "You all right?"

"'m scared," he whispered and nudged his lips against his brother's chin, drawing them slowly up to his mouth. "What are we going to do?"

"Don't worry," Tom whispered back. "I'm going to take care of us."

~@~

Throwing a book across the room, Tom could not draw the will to look at another paragraph on the properties of doxy eggs without vomiting. He was alone this day. He hadn't wanted to venture off to Hogsmeade as all of the other older students did. The quaint little village was full of absolutely nothing that held his interest at that moment.

On the other end of the spectrum, Harry had squealed at the chance to go. He had missed his first outing due to detention and another for lack of permission, but had finally acquired his mother's signature over Christmas and was dying for this day to come. Having Merope at home with them over the holiday allowed the brothers to return without any sort of orphanage involvement. They only had to deal with her growing nuttiness.

Try as he might, Tom busied himself with studying and keeping his mind on useful things, and not Harry. The younger boy had been heartbroken by all of his 'so-called' friends abandoning him so impulsively. Only Rubeus Hagrid seemed immune to the false memories implanted in his head. He was as thick as he was massive; the magic almost seemed to bounce off of him when Tom cast it. He couldn't be sure whether it was idiocy or heritage that prevented it from working. He'd have to study up on giants and their weaknesses if he was going to try and tackle that obstacle again.

Oddly enough, a failed spell was not the source of Tom's anxiety. Something strange kept pricking at his conscience. His heart had been beating at a rapid pace all morning. His thoughts vaulted from one thing to another without control. He rocked in place on his bed, wand in hand, eyes averted to the corner of the room where Dolohov's bed sat.

 _Dolohov_ …

Harry had clocked him in the courtyard some time back. There was something Tom had said– yes… he had ordered his friends to take the boy down a notch.　 _Oh hell..._

 _“Why in the hell would I say that?”_ he whispered shaky words through gritted teeth. _“What’s wrong with me? What am I doing?”_

It suddenly occurred to Tom that he did not want that to happen. He was pushing Harry too hard too fast, and could seriously fuck with his head for no good reason at all. Stability was not a trait his mother or father had blessed either boy with; one wrong move and Harry might just up and crack. Tom had done enough to him already. Harry was practically friendless. People shoved him in the halls as he passed. He'd been hexed and jinxed more than once. He cried on Tom's shoulder two nights in a row without saying a word. Harry was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was far too young to be so tense and worried all day and night.

Tom stood up and slipped his loafers on, not bothering with a robe or anything other than his wand. The Death Eaters were going to strike today. He could feel it in his bones. He threw open the door to the common room and ran straight away through the castle, to the path leading off to Hogsmeade.

~@~

As the first of the shops came into plain view, Tom breathed a laden sigh seeing nothing out of the ordinary on the busy street. Winded as he was, he pressed on and ignored the awful stitch in his side. He had to find Harry to be sure he was all right. He had left to venture here with that giant who would be positively easy to spot in the dense crowd. Moving along the street, faces blurred before him. He could recognize no one. His heart beat faster than it had while running; Harry was nowhere in sight.

"Tom! Oh, Tom!" Wearing a mink stole and high heels that clicked on the pavement, Walburga ran up to Tom's side and threaded her hand through the spot between his arm and body. Pulling him to a halt, she pointed to the boy standing awkwardly beside her. "Have you heard about Orion and me? I suppose I should thank your brother," she said in a sly wisp. "We've been betrothed. Yes, he's a bit younger than I am- but look at this ring!" She thrust her hand out and wiggled it around to show off the huge rock on her finger.

Tom was thrown off-kilter by her words, understanding nothing. There was only one thing on his mind and hearing the word 'brother' dropped him quickly back down to earth. "I… er, what?" he said, looking at both of them with bewilderment. "Wonderful, congratulations and all that. Have you seen Harry around?"

Walburga pulled away and looked over her shoulder. "Right old trouble-maker, he is. He's probably in the cafe with his hands in some slapper's knickers."

Orion snorted sycophantically out of the corner of his mouth.

"Oh, look who it is," she sing-songed, pointing to two podgy girls and one very gangly looking boy making their way through the crowd to enter Honeydukes. "Moping Myrtle and grotty Mina. They're always following Harry around like dumpy little puppies. Why don't you ask them?"

With a nod, Tom parted the students to reach them, gripping Bulstrode by the shoulder. Myrtle and the boy, Filbert Fawcett, stopped beside them. "Hey, where's Harry?"

Both girls cringed. "I d-don't know!" Mina stammered, wavering and unsure as to why she felt this sudden bout of nervousness around the Prefect. He was angry with her… something… she couldn't remember. "Haven't seen him once."

Myrtle shared her reaction and slowly scooted her way to the entrance to Honeydukes. She did not feel at all comfortable sitting under his fierce glare and set jaw. Tom looked wild-eyed, as if something had really upset him. "Might want to try The Three Broomsticks, Gaunt. He might have gone there with the Gryffindors."

 _If these two spinsters haven't seen him around…_ 　"What about Hagrid – have you seen him?"

Filbert nodded excitedly, having been given the chance to actually speak to the most popular boy in school. "Yes! I saw him wandering around by the Joke Shop a short while back!"

Tom gave Mina a shove off and moved on down the length of High Street without a word of thanks. He was far too tense, panting, his hands shook with adrenaline. If only there were some way to contact Nott and Avery and put a stop to whatever they had planned! "I'm so stupid. This is all my fault," he breathed unsteadily to himself, eyes darting to and fro over the heads of others to catch sight of the half-giant or any of his friends.

"Hagrid!" he nearly screamed, seeing the exceedingly large boy pacing back and forth next to an alleyway.

"Gaunt," Rubeus said, surprised. "Harry said you weren' interested in Hogsmeade!"

Tom's peripheral vision immediately picked out the flowing auburn hair and sharp purples of the robes encasing the man staring back at him. He turned his head and looked directly at Albus Dumbledore, who, in return, smiled at him and tipped his head. Tom clenched his teeth. Everything was falling apart. Where in the hell was Harry?

"Hagrid," he said, focusing again on the half-giant. "Where is he?"

Rubeus shrugged unknowingly. "I've been waitin' on him. We was talkin' and when I looked down he up and disappeared. I reckon he went into Zonko's, on'y I can' go in… been banned from there."

Tom glanced back at Dumbledore worriedly. The man's happy façade had faded. He should go to him and ask him for help. Surely someone like Dumbledore, who as powerful as Grindelwald, would know how to find Harry. But if he did he'd have to tell Dumbledore what was happening. He could not risk losing Harry this way but he could not chance losing Harry if he got hurt.

"Afternoon, Tom."

Tom jumped. "What!?"

Albus was now standing right in front of him. "Is something the matter?"

"No," Tom said quickly. "Er, you haven't seen Harry around, have you?"

Albus adjusted his glasses as he looked around the area. "I'm afraid I haven't. Is there something wrong, anything I should know about?"

"Course not. I was just looking for him," Tom snapped. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell him, to admit to being a sneaky git who couldn't control his own emotions and had set loose the hounds upon his brother. This had more to do with merely conceding to Grindelwald's nemesis. This was his brother's fragile existence dangling from a thread. "Professor, that's not exactly the whole truth. I'm worried about—"

"Well, there 'e is!" Hagrid shouted.

Tom whirled around, seeing Harry emerge from the alleyway. He was holding something in his hands, looking curiously back at the trio. "I found a snake," he chirped, holding up a beautiful specimen wrapped tightly around his wrist. "I heard her—ouch!"

Before he could finish, Tom pinched his brother’s arm to shut him up. He'd be damned if he was going to let the boy slip up and give away any unneeded information about his ability to talk to snakes in front of Dumbledore, of all people. "Where have you been?" he growled, and carefully looked Harry over for any obvious signs of brutality. "I was so sure you were in trouble. I had this bad feeling- I don't know, never mind." He had to shut his own self up now, take a deep breath and not give off the impression that he was a sodding worry-wart in front of everyone. He hid his hands, clasping them behind his back to hide the residual shaking. Looking like anything less than a proper wizard, especially in front of Dumbledore, would never sit well with him.

"My boy, that's a mighty dangerous snake you're handling there," Albus commented, looking cautiously down at the serpent over his half-moons. "I wouldn't want anyone to be bitten. Or set on fire."

"Oh, you don't have to worry, Professor," Harry said proudly, smiling back at the man. "I'm not going to keep her. She has no desire to stir up any trouble. I heard her moving around in the grass and she saw my bite marks here." He pointed to the two small, silvery scars adorning his hand and ran a slender finger along the length of the serpent's scaly spine in a loving manner. "Snakes are very observant and curious creatures."

"Tha's an Ashwinder, Harry!" Hagrid cried with fascination. He nearly swooned in place with adoration for his best mate's ability to handle such frightening reptiles. "You can ask it ter tell i's friends not ter torch the　 _you-know-whats_ 　anymore!"

Tom's stomach knotted up. Harry's big, fat mouth was going to land them in deeper hot water. Hagrid the half-wit obviously knew about their being Parselmouths.

None of that bothered him as much as he imagined because Harry was safe.

Albus tipped his head in appreciation. His eyes twinkled with a newfound interest in the boys. "And she perceived you as no threat, as the mark on your hand tells her all she needs to know: the bite of a viper without it delivering venom indicates that you are a friend of snakes. That’s quite a significant story in itself, Harry."

"Right, well," the older boy hastily interrupted, plucking the snake from his brother's hand. Albus studied their actions. Intriguingly, neither boy seemed to hold any fear for the poisonous and flammable beasts. He watched Tom set the snake on the street and shoo it away. The other waved to it as if the snake could understand what that meant.

The Prefect caught the Professor’s curious watchings. He gulped, knowing he wasn’t careful enough and might have just proved to the old man that they could indeed talk to snakes. He nudged his brother. "We should head back. There's something important I need to talk to you about."

"I haven't gotten a gift for mummy yet – Tom!" Harry protested as he was grappled and dragged away from the others. He waved a quick good-bye to Hagrid and disappeared into the crowd.

~@~

As final exams were well underway most every student busied themselves with studying their subjects. The warm weather had brought most of them outside to relax in between or sit under the trees with texts propped on their knees. Harry was no exception. He and Hagrid had spent the better part of their day lounging by the lake to skip rocks between course studies for fun.

Tossing a skipping rock as hard as he could before falling back to the soft grass, Harry sighed. He flipped through his Arithmancy book with a troubled look. Tom had promised to help him study again but had yet to arrive. Harry was dying to talk to him. The trouble he knew might stir up again at the end of the year just jumped out and slapped him in the face. "I got another detention."

"What fer now, school's nearly out." Hagrid said. He tossed a jagged bit of limestone into the lake. "Don' tell me it were Dolohov again… yeh need ter stay far away from him."

"I know, but I really hate him," Harry replied, shrugging.

Hagrid shifted his girth, propping himself on an elbow to be more at Harry's eye level. "Yeh shouldn' say tha'; hate's a strong word."

"Well, I do. I fucking hate him." He grabbed another rock from the pile and chucked it as far as he could. "He's no better than you or me. You saw what he tried to do to me at Hogsmeade! He was just too bloody stupid to get a hex off properly."

"Is tha' what the detention's for? I'll testify that he struck firs'!"

Harry shook his head. "It's not. He was assisting Professor Slughorn in potions class today and spiked my cauldron with some sneezewort, so I dumped it on him." He stifled a laugh as Hagrid did until neither could contain themselves. They burst into laughter and fell back against the earth, feeling very vindicated. "You should have seen him, Hagrid; he couldn't remember his own name for a moment and was running around in circles with smoke coming out of his ears. He looked like a great big choo-choo train."

"Yes, very funny."

Harry and Hagrid froze and looked up. Tom was standing over them, scowling. "Shouldn't you be leaving, Hagrid?" he asked darkly.

Harry's jaw dropped open.

Hagrid stood up and straightened his shirt. "Righ', see yeh aroun', Harry."

"You don't have to go—Tom, you bastard—Hagrid, wait!" But Hagrid walked off, tossing Harry a brisk wave as he moved away from the path. Harry pursed his lips while his brother situated his robes over the grass for a proper place to sit. "He's like- my last friend, you know. Could you please try not to frighten him off? You're such an cunt."

Ignoring him, Tom grabbed up the Arithmancy textbook and began reading over the index. "So what parts are giving you trouble now? I thought you understood it well enough the last time we went over it."

"I suppose I should just get it out right now," Harry said haughtily. Tom looked up from the book, cocking an eyebrow. Harry's eyes drifted off toward the lake as he rubbed briskly at his scar. "I'm in trouble again."

Snapping the book shut with a　 _bang_ , Tom's huffed. "I knew it. You can't bloody-well control yourself, Harry. What in Merlin's name have you done now?"

"It doesn't matter. We've got bigger problems than that."

 _"Like what?"_ Tom hissed.

Harry was twisting his jumper in his hands and chewing liberally on his lip. He pulled his knees into his chest, hugging them for comfort. Detentions were one thing - but murder was something altogether different. He had felt this encompassing sense of dread all afternoon. Something very bad was going to happen. "Merrythought made me stay after class today and told me she wants you and me to come to the headmaster's office for some sort of meeting tonight. Do you think it might have anything to do with my mummy being in the hospital? Maybe they checked up on Morfin."

"Stop worrying about it," Tom warned him.

"But we killed someone," Harry whispered frantically.

"Is that what's bothering you? Is it really getting to you, Harry? Big deal. I killed a man and his disgusting parents; they deserved it. They wanted to keep you from me." And as he said those awful words a feeling Tom had never felt before about anyone other than Harry swelled deep within. Remorse. Regret. More darkness, fuzzy edges. What had really happened?

Harry shook his head. "I just don't want you to go to prison. I don't want to go to an orphanage either," he admitted, looking down in his lap.

Tom’s breath caught tight in his throat.　He felt terrible. His hands were shaking and tears threatened to spill out again. _"I've done other things,"_ he confessed, his voice quivering. At last, he gave up control over his emotions. He wept as he said something he never thought he’d hear himself say. _"I didn’t mean to. I’m really scared."_

Harry petted his hair. "Just relax. It’s okay. We're going to figure this out."

_“I don’t know what’s happening. It’s like someone’s making me do these things.”_

Harry watched his brother softly rock while he chewed on a fingernail, eyes cast down with concern creasing his features. He pulled him close, hugging him. “That’s really scary.”

“We could wipe everyone’s memory and disappear.”

“No. It’ll just cause more problems. Every time we do something like this it backfires.”

Tom nodded. His cheeks damp, his body trembling. He looked at his brother with a knitted brow. He sobbed and screwed his eyes shut. _“Your right. You’re absolutely right.”_

Standing on the edge of the Forbidden Forest watching the two boys hug each other for comfort, Draco Malfoy scratched his head. “What is he saying? I don’t understand Parseltongue.”

A tall, masculine man stood beside him. His jet black hair waved softly in the breeze. He was swathed in a handsome suit and clutched a cigarette. He was not happy. “He said everything I never wanted him to hear him say.”

Draco felt the sting of his words. He glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “Has something gone wrong?”

Lord Voldemort gave him a nod. The red in his irises seemed to flicker. “I had a feeling something was off.” They had forgotten how the Dark Lord had looked. They had remembered almost nothing. The memories flooded him less and less. He suspected but had to see it with his own eyes. The bond had been diluted in some way. Voldemort felt nothing but it was clear that his younger self was an emotional mess. “We’ve missed something. We’re going to have to comb over it all.”

Already exhausted, Draco nodded in defeat. “Yes, my Lord. We’ll go over it all.”

 


	9. Breaking the Mold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is underage sexual contact in this chapter.

December 1944

As the World War came that much closer to an end and the sounds of bombs exploding around them had been silenced, the quaint town of Richmond slowly began to recuperate. An overview of the town showed nothing but obscurity. Where once fairy lights twinkled in the darkness the fine peoples of the area dared not bring any attention to the constant aircraft flying overhead.

One such house made a flashy exception.

The large oriel window of the pretty, grey-bricked house was continuously lit up at the end of a crowded residential street; a myriad of colours radiated from it throughout the day and it had nothing to do with it being Christmas.

_*Thunk!*_

"Damnit, bastard!" Harry could barely contain the heat in his voice as he shook the pain out of his left arm. The tail end of a Stinging Hex had gone right through his shield and bit the ever-loving hell out of his wrist. Tom was standing across the room with the snootiest look on his face that he was drooling to wipe off. "Show some restraint, please. I didn't say this type of shield would hold off every single bit of magic you throw at me. The matrix of it does weaken, you know."

"And that's exactly why I'm trying to show you that a tangible shield is superior. You can clearly see when mine is weakening; no bothersome guesswork needed." Tom drew his wand up to the ready once more. His eyes flashed with challenge. "Reapply it the instant you think it’s coming and not a second before. Got it? I want it at full strength this time."

Harry nodded. "A big old shield isn't going to protect you from a spell with any sort of area of effect in its radius. Why not just carry it around and put up a force field when you need it?"

Tom rolled his eyes and shook his head. "No, no, it's far too heavy and makes a lot of noise. Anyway, stop trying to delay the inevitable. You're wondrous theory was flawed and now you have to pay for that mistake!"

A jet of red light filled Harry's eyes. Clenching them tightly shut, he cried out,　 _"–Protego!—"_ 　before it was too late.

The spell bounced away and hit the wall by the front door the very instant Merope decided to walk into the house.

"Boys!" she cried, dropping all of the parcels in her hands to the floor and ducking low to avoid the curse. A picture frame above her head exploded, showering her with glass. "Take this dangerous sporting outside or I'll pull your belts off and redden your backsides with them!"

Tom smirked wickedly. “Oh, really? I’d like to see you try that.”

Harry ran to her, cringing. He swiped at her clothes and then waved his wand over her to remove any remaining glass fragments. "I'm so sorry, mummy. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Harry. And the baby's fine," she assured him, patting her belly.

"Baby?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"Oh, Merlin, here we go again." Tom threw his hands up in disappointment. "Still completely off your rocker, I see." He pointed to the spiral staircase. "Go lie down before you upset me."

Pulling Harry into her arms and hugging him so tightly he could hardly breathe, Merope turned her focus onto the older boy. "Harry isn't old enough to be performing magic outside of school. What would happen if someone came to call on us and saw this? You must stop encouraging him!"

Tom stuffed his wand in his pocket and sighed. He had been dreading this visit from their mother all month. He had little choice in the matter, though. Either bring her home or Harry would have to remain at Hogwarts over the holiday. "Maybe you should try making a little noise before walking in like that next time. We can cast spells anywhere we want to; this is _my_ house after all."

"You have such a wretched attitude...you always have. How did you get that way?" his mother asked him. She and Harry bent down to pick up the wrapped gifts strewn about but her gaze remained on her oldest son. "I didn't raise you to treat others so poorly."

"Certainly not," Tom chided, dropping in a big overstuffed chair beside the spiral staircase. "You just raised us to get beat up and terrorized, and then pretended not to see it. I have no clue as to why I’m so bitter, mummy."

Harry glowered at him as he set the gifts down in front of the Christmas tree. "Shut up, git," he whispered to him. "Don't start with her today. I'm warning you."

Tom planted a shoe on his brother's hip as he leaned in to place one of the parcels near the centre of the tree, giving him a shove and knocking him off-balance.

Harry tumbled into the decorated monstrosity head first, sending baubles flying and getting tinsel caught in his hair. He righted himself and readjusted his spectacles, glittering and fuming. "Real classy, prick," he growled, picking the stuff off of his shoulders.

Merope stood there in her pretty coral suit and leather strap shoes looking healthier than Tom could ever remember seeing her. Soft, dark curls framed her face and hung down past her shoulders. Her fingernails were painted bright pink, matching the ostrich-feather handbag she was clutching against her chest. She had obtained a pair of eyeglasses recently with lenses so thick you could hardly notice the strange angles her irises were set. She looked like a mother to him, a real mother. It was a crying shame that she had allowed Morfin to do his thing. She could have made life so special for them; it could have been magical…

"Language, Harry. And you,” she asked as she looked at Tom one last time. “What time are your friends arriving? I really should lie down for a spell; the baby has been kicking me all day." Merope set her handbag down on the arm of the couch perched in front of the enormous front window and scampered off toward the hallway.

"How did she know about that?" Tom cried, rising quickly from his chair. “She’s been doing that a lot since she got here. It’s creepy.”

“Speaking of creepy,” Harry popped his knuckles. "Who's coming over?"

"Oh, you know, just a few Slytherins from school, er…I think Nott, Avery, Lestrange, Dolohov, Yaxley, Rookwood, Mulcibur, Bagman, Crockett, Prewett and maybe Rosier. As well as way too many people with the surname Black to list. They might bring along a few others. They're umm…well - hadn't I mentioned it earlier? It's just that I thought it might be a nice gesture if we had them over to our place for a gathering. You know, show them around and get to know them a little better and all that." Tom's cheeks flushed pink. He found it difficult keeping eye contact with Harry as he spoke. Making friends wasn’t easy. “Stop judging me, it’s unnerving.”

"That's quite a list," Harry said curiously. "Funny how you forgot to mention anything to me about this." He worked over the names in his head, with each of them curling his lip more toward a sneer.　 _Antonin Dolohov_ …That pig was going to be there in his home. The mere thought of it made him want to hex Tom's eyes out. "When are they getting here?" he asked, glancing at the large deco clock behind his brother's head.

The two of them had been on pins and needles with each other since Merope's arrival. Tom was having a lot of trouble forgiving her. They had a lovely little home now: a cosy place with indoor plumbing and lighting and all those goodies that they thought only existed in Hogwarts. He did not like thinking about the House of Gaunt. He wanted to outgrow the stigma of being that little rogue that he once was. He would never go back there. They might as well just tear the place down.

"Look, I was hoping you wouldn't show your age over this matter, you little toddler. I really want this to go well. You can just stay upstairs all night and knit some nappies with mummy."

The younger boy shook his head slowly. "You wish."

Tom set his jaw. "You should try and get on with some of these blokes like I’m trying to do. It's a nice gesture."

Harry stood there for a spell, staring at him. "Look’it you being nice. Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

"I don’t know why I tell you anything.”

Harry shrugged and walked away. "I don’t want to pretend to be nice to them." He gripped the railing of the staircase, curling his fingers around the polished brass until his knuckles turned white. "I can’t believe you invited Dolohov into our home. You are such a piece of work."

Tom watched him ascend the staircase. "Do try to keep your hands to yourself."

Harry leaned over the railing. "Yeah, that’s not gonna happen," he said nastily, and then slammed the door to his bedroom.

Turning to the fireplace at the opposite side of the room, Tom pointed his wand at the neat pile of logs resting on the hearth and levitated them onto the andirons before setting them ablaze. "It's bloody cold in here," he murmured to himself, feeling the warmth in the elegant reception room siphon away with a cool breeze steadily rising in the air.

* * *

The commotion on the ground floor mingled with loud music resonating through the walls. Harry sat beside his mother while she knitted booties, clicking the soles of his wing-tip shoes on the iron bedpost. He felt completely out of place, sitting there in a fancy jumper and a pair of wool slacks that his brother had insisted he wear. His shaggy hair had been neatly combed with thick grease Tom purchased at a barbershop to keep a semblance of the whole　 _'we're just as good as you are'_ 　thing going.

He looked like Tom, a little miniature doppelganger waiting for his call to make an appearance. He was itchy and bored but could not find it in his heart to leave his mother sitting alone.

Merope was not allowed downstairs. She was being punished for being too strange for the guests to handle. Her smile showed no hurt, though. She hugged Harry around the shoulders, leaving a half knitted bib in her lap. She was fascinated with the gooey substance taming his hair. "You've always had the most unmanageable and beautiful locks. They're like mine, see? We've got such stubborn curls."

He knew her curls were something she had recently acquired from a witch's salon on Diagon Alley but he wasn't going to say anything to spoil her uppity mood. She had come to adore the purple Knight Bus and its easy travel. Tom had not wanted anyone to see Merope leaving or entering their home but Harry was happy she found something to do. His brother was embarrassed of her and this had pissed him off like nothing other.

“I hate this. I’m getting changed.”

"Go downstairs, Harry," Merope urged. "I'm betting there are a few lovely ladies down there that have their eye on you."

Harry shook his head. "Showing me attention is just a way for them to get to Tom, mum. All the girls fancy him something terrible. Besides, it got kind of hushed down there, didn't it?" The voices once filling the house had stilled, giving Harry the impression that everyone had gone home. "I'd rather stay up here with you."

"You're such a handsome boy. You've got more class in the tip of your nose than Tom has running through his entire body," Merope whispered, patting his hand. "My elves will keep me company. Go downstairs and show yourself off. You're wasting this lovely outfit on me. I insist – go!"

It was Christmas Eve and Harry was in his mother's arms. "Mummy?"

"What is it, darling?" she asked him, dropping her chin on his shoulder.

Harry tipped his head back and gazed at her out of the corner of his eye. "You know there's no other girl in the world like you, yes?"

She chuckled softly, tickling Harry's ear. "Oh, yes, I know."

* * *

The overhead chandelier in the reception room had been dimmed. Harry squinted as he descended the steps of the spiral staircase, fearing that he might be walking into some sort of situation he would not want to see. There were couples strewn around all over the furniture. In the pit of his stomach Harry knew that if he looked hard enough he'd see that thing he dreaded so.

“No,” he cried under his breath. His brother was across the room on top of some drunken schoolgirl. Her legs were wrapped around his hips, arms around his neck, fingers clasped. They were groping, kissing and definitely humping each other on the sofa. The music playing was a slow, sappy ballad, egging on the stimulating movement of each couple's actions. Harry hardly heard the stumbling footsteps of someone sneaking up on him. He was far too gone in his jealous coma to hear it or care.

"Oh Morgana indeed, it's the littler Gaunt making his grand entrance."

Harry's eyes rolled back into his head for a second, hearing that raspy drone of the person he hated second most in the house. He turned around, sneering. "Get fucked, Antonin." He had half a mind to march right back upstairs and pack his and his mother's belongings and leave this house forever. His fists were balled up tight, ready to hit anything that touched him.

"Get over yourself, Harry," Dolohov said in a slow drawl. "I came to offer a truce."

Harry turned back to the stairs and made it up three of them before being dragged back down by two large hands. "Nah, nah, don't run off now. C'mon, have a drink with me and let's bury the hatchet."

Holding a reluctant Harry by the wrist, Dolohov pulled him along through the dark room until his fingers clamped around the neck of a bottle of fire whiskey. "This'll do," he whispered, and he and Harry stepped over Druella and Cygnus lying tangled on the floor.

"I don't think I'm allowed to drink that," Harry mumbled, feeling a bit sheepish about sharing a bottle with the prat. He turned back, looking for the sofa again in the darkness. "Who's that with Tom?"

"Where's your room?"

"It's upstairs," Harry said absently.

"Let's go up."

"I just got down here. Is everyone with someone?" Harry wanted nothing more than to show up his brother and snog some other girl's face off right in front of him. Tom had no idea how much it hurt to see him doing this, again, and especially in the home they shared.

"Look, I'm sorry about that joke I played on your giant friend. He's all right, isn't he?" Antonin asked Harry, shaking him from his thoughts. He gave him a tug closer to the staircase. "Upstairs, you said?"

Harry pointed up to the other spiral staircase above the one they ascended. "Yeah, up there, second floor."

Merope's bedroom door was shut. Tom's bedroom door was open and there were two people having sex on his bed. Harry cringed as he passed. Working his way up to the second floor, he jerked his head to the door on the right. Grasping the knob, he looked over his shoulder, trying to figure the other boy out. Harry had his wand on him. If the dirty Slytherin tried anything fishy he'd be very, very sorry. "Come on, then," he whispered.

"This it?" Dolohov stared listlessly around the room for a moment before centring on the bed. There were Quidditch pendants of all different colours clinging to the walls. It was small and modestly decorated in rusts and browns, looking very much like a teenaged boy's room to him. He moved toward the bed sluggishly and dropped down on his back before taking a healthy swig from the bottle. "Here," he said, holding it out to the other boy. "Sit, drink."

"Yeah, give it," Harry blurted and grabbed the bottle. He gulped down a large amount of whiskey, enough to make him cough while his eyes watered up behind his glasses. He pulled them off and set them on the night table.

Antonin laughed. "Good stuff, eh?"

Harry wiped the tears away and nodded. It wasn't as bad as he thought it could be. Its effects were immediate. He sat down on the edge of the bed watching Dolohov, giggling. "You're really sorry for hexing Hagrid, then?"

"Of course I'm not," he replied smugly. "I just wanted to get you up here."

Blinking, Harry found himself taken aback. "Oh? And why is that?"

Dolohov began picking at a scab on his arm. Harry watched him, never seeing him look so vulnerable before. He was mildly attractive in the face, with long, gangly legs and a compact, stocky torso. He had strawberry-blond hair and deep blue eyes and an amount of freckles on his nose that made him look a lot less dangerous than he was. And at that moment he looked as though he might burst into tears if he were forced to reveal this terrible secret that he was holding inside.

Swallowing more fire whiskey than he should, Harry waited patiently for this awkward moment to pass.

Antonin refused to look up at him but finally spoke in a very soft voice. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Isn't　 _what_ 　obvious?" Harry asked him.

"Like I er…little bit- you know. Fancy you."

Harry didn't act openly surprised, but he was. "Is that so?"

"Yeah, I s'pose. Don't know why I'm telling you, though," Antonin replied.

It suddenly made all the sense in the world. Harry felt butterflies begin flapping in his tummy over this discovery. "That why you pick on me?"

Dolohov shrugged, but refused to look up. “It could be.”

Harry clutched the bottle between his thighs. He leaned back against the wall submissively, finding himself intrigued. This could be a very good thing. He could use this knowledge to his advantage, just like Tom did. A small smile curled up on his lips. "Maybe you're telling me because you wanna kiss me?" His hand trailed over the silk bedding until it reached Dolohov's.　

The older boy blushed. "Maybe."

"So do it," Harry said bluntly. He dropped his head in the larger boy’s lap to look up at him. He reached up and brushed his cheek while he nibbled on his bottom lip to appear innocently seductive to the older boy. “You know you want to. Kiss me already.”

Antonin shuddered and pounced.

Harry was in Dolohov's arms, dropped back on the mattress before he could even think. The bottle hit the floor with a splash of liquid spewing out as it rolled away.

Their lips were crushed together, teeth clacked loudly. Heavy groaning purred from their throats.

Dolohov was on top of him, holding him to the mattress. "Look, Harry," he said harshly, finding little breath. "You can't tell anyone." He kissed him harder, letting himself go. Harry was so unbelievably willing to give him this shot, he was not going to waste a second of it. He stopped, cupping his face in his hands in awe. "Gods, you're so pretty. You can't tell anyone about this." He rolled his hips over Harry's pelvis once or twice for a bit of friction.

Harry tensed. “Don’t do that," he hissed “just kiss,” while twining his fingers through the short, wiry hair to bring Antonin's lips back to his own. Newly grown stubble scraped at his skin. Dolohov's hands ran under the jumper, up and down his sides. His thumbs traced over every protruding rib until they reached the hardened peaks of his nipples. "Merlin are you deaf? I said kiss," Harry snapped, and moved his hands away.

The music from the ground floor had picked up in pace. Voices on the lower levels bounded through the room.

Dolohov was all over Harry, straddling his hips and fondling every part of his upper body. Harry could feel the hard press of his arousal jutting against him. It was going too far and needed to end. "Off," he said, giving the boy a simple push to his shoulder. "I'm done."

"That it?" Dolohov ran his fingers through his hair and kept his eyes cast downward.

"Yeah," Harry replied. "I’m not going to let you get off on me."

"I didn't mean to-" Antonin stood up, blushing. "Did I go too - Was this a mistake?"

"That depends on you," Harry stated matter-of-factly. He smoothed his messy hair back into place. “I want you to do something for me.”

"You can't tell anyone, all—"

"Yeah, yeah, no one must find out that you’re gay. You've said that already," Harry growled at him. The poor lad was trembling. He smoothed the sheet between them, adjusting it back into proper position. He wouldn't let the other boy see the smile threatening to surface on his lips. "If you don't want anyone to know I suggest you leave Hagrid alone from now on."

Dolohov gave him a nod. "You swear you won't tell anyone? My father would- He's very opposed to this sort of thing."

Harry looked up at him and smiled. "Yeah, I can keep your little secret but you got to lay off Hagrid. Alright?"

"Yeah," he replied. “I won’t touch him.”

“Because I’ll know.”

“I promise. I’ll do anything you say.”

“That’s a good boy. Run along now.” Harry drew his index finger to his lips then waved the Slytherin pest out of his room.

* * *

After pushing himself as far as he could on the kindness scale, Tom yawned through his good-byes to the others as they filed toward the front door. The hour was late and his disappointment over Harry's decision to remain hidden clawed at his psyche. He swiped at the lipstick marks on his lips, tasting the resin of beeswax on the tip of his tongue. Lucretia's blossomed scent lingered on his clothing. “Hmm.”

"G'night, Tom."

Tom turned around. Dolohov had appeared from nowhere to sneak past with his mumbling words and no excuses. "Where did you come from?" he asked him, eyeing his rumpled suit.

"Oh, I fell asleep sometime back," He looked nervous.

“Have you seen Harry tonight?”

“No, absolutely not. No.” He stood frozen for a moment before slapping the taller boy on the arm. "Great party. Big day tomorrow, yeah? Well, Happy Christmas."

Tom watched the lie. He smiled. “And to you, too.”

Harry was sitting on the steps, his bare legs dangling over the side through the railing spindles. "Everyone's gone home?"

"Yeah," Tom said. "Hey, was Dolohov bothering you?"

Harry pulled his legs in to hug them. "I wouldn't call it bothering." He felt Tom close in on him, take his hand and help him stand. He tugged on the hem of his undershirt as he followed his brother up the stairs. "It was for a good cause, and he won't be hexing Hagrid in the halls anymore."

Walking into the other’s room, Harry closed the door and put his back to it. Tom was huffing and hawing about the state of his bedding. "Someone was in my room.”

“Wasn’t me. I was in my room. I wasn’t alone either. I was with Dolohov.”

Tom remained fixed on his bedding. "I'll have to wash these."

"He was on the bed with me. On the bed humping me. We nearly fucked."

"Bullshit." Tom was still fiddling around with the sheets.

“Why won’t you look at me, see that it’s the truth.”

Tom flushed. He refused to look up. "Because why would you do that with him when you haven’t done that with me?"

Harry gasped. "You were doing the same thing on the sofa. Nice double standard. You’re not better than me.”

Bedding flew across the room. “This looks like- they fucked on my bed.”

Harry's lip twitched and formed a sneer. "Did you do that to her downstairs?"

"No," Tom said quickly.

"You look guilty."

"I’m upset." The jealousy cemented itself in Tom’s pained heart. He gritted his teeth to bear it, it was overpowering.

Harry felt little pity. “That little dramatic crybaby thing you’re doing there; well, that’s how I feel when I see someone else draped all over you.”

"I kissed her for　 _maybe_ 　five minutes. I only did it to get into her father’s library next week." Tom moved closer to Harry. He stroked his cheek with the back of his hand. “It meant nothing.”

“That’s why I did it, too.”

“To get into Antonin’s library?”

“No, you git. To get him to stop bothering Hagrid.”

Tom slid one hand behind the nape of Harry's neck, the other on the small of his back. He gripped a slick handful of hair, forcing the boy's head back and dipped his tongue between his parted lips.

Harry seized up, breathless, helpless. A exasperated groan vibrated between them as hands circled Tom's neck.

"It was thoughtless," Tom breathed. "If I’d just asked her." He ran his tongue up the length of Harry’s throat, pulled his glasses off and tossed them behind him. He kissed the line of his jaw. "This pain we feel, it’s jealousy. It’s horrible. Let’s not do this to each other anymore. There are other ways to get what we want."

"Alright." Harry was stiff against the door. "Not sure of how I could have gotten Dolohov to stop any other way, though."

"Gods,you bunny," Tom said giggling, “I’m trying to be serious here.” He pulled Harry away from the door, pivoting him around. They dropped onto the bed and tore at each other's undershirts, pulling them off over their heads. He canted his hips into the other's with a silky moan. "I won’t hurt you like that again," he rasped, losing his breath. He wriggled a hand between them.

Harry mewled in restless response, feeling Tom's fingers rubbing over the cotton material of his drawers, tormenting his inexorable arousal. "I'm holding you to that."

Heavy breathing cascaded across Harry's cheek. Tom nuzzled into his brother's neck to put a kiss on the delicate skin. "Take these off. Let me touch you all over."

"All right," Harry said blindly. He slipped them over his hips and felt the cold realization of his actions. He had never taken his pants off before while intimate with Tom. Too late to stop, he kicked them away and fell back into the bedding letting Tom recapture his lips. The soft pads of fingers toyed lovingly against him, while teeth nipped at his bottom lip. There were no words Harry could properly form to describe how divine everything felt, and how strangely comfortable he was in his lover's ministrations. He did not want this to stop.

Tom tipped Harry's chin up with a knuckle. "Does it feel good? You're so quiet."

"Mhmm," Harry hummed lazily. His eyes were closed and his arms tightened around Tom's shoulders. He rolled his hips in rhythm with each stroke, faster and harder. Suddenly, he buried his face in Tom's neck as the lovely crest spread warmth throughout his belly. He wanted to stay that way forever. His panting exhales tickled Tom's ear. It was perfectly perfect and he could think of nothing else than returning the delicious thrill he had been gifted.

Slowly, uncertainly, his hand moved along Tom's side. "You going to take yours off?" he whispered shakily, still buried in his warm neck. It was scary and exciting to think of what they had done, the barrier they had crossed after months of finding their niche on how to please the other.

"Yeah, if you want me to," Tom whispered back, wishing he had silenced the room. He never imagined in a million years that his mother would have wanted to bunk directly across from his room and not Harry's. Anticipation crept hurriedly into his every nerve, in wait for his answer. Gods, yes, he wanted his love to touch him.

Harry nodded in the crook of his neck and placed a kiss on his collarbone. "Yeah, I do. Lie back."

Shivering with delight, the Prefect shimmied out of his pants as quickly as possible. On this cold night they pressed their bodies together for warmth and friction. Harry made a sweet noise in his throat as his slender fingers wrapped gingerly around Tom's pretty cock.

There were countless times Tom could recall where he was in this position, with expert hands that knew all the right spots to tug and scrape. None of them made him feel the intense ache as Harry's clumsy caresses resonated through his insides.

Harry's pink tongue played on his upper lip while his focus to please his lover intensified.

Feeling his flush skin against him, inhaling the scent of his tamed hair and tasting the residue of come on the tips of his fingers sent Tom into euphoric bliss. Harry's lovely hand slipped and stroked him fully hard; with his other planted on his hip. Their legs entwined to create a better pace, anchoring them to each other.

"Do you like it?" Harry asked him so innocently, staring at him with owlish fascination.

"Mordred, don't stop. Don't stop," Tom panted. He reached down, clamping his hand over Harry's. He took him by the hair, entranced with his eyes. "You're so beautiful. So perfect." Never had anything as exquisite graced him. A cry tore through his lips as his body convulsed and shook.

Harry immediately cupped a hand over his mouth, shushing him. They both looked to the door, huffing and panting for breath, praying they had not woken Merope. Nothing stirred and the lovers relaxed on the unmade bed. Sleep was inevitable.

Tom felt a pang of guilt, thinking he may have egged Harry to do it when he wasn't ready. "You don’t feel bad about that, do you?"

"No," Harry whispered.

Tom grabbed the sheet from the floor and clean off the remainder of their love making. His breathing had slowed but the jealousy he had felt earlier bubbled up inside of him once more. "I'm gonna fucking murder Dolohov, you know."

Harry bit down on his brother’s shoulder, teasing the trapped skin with his tongue.

"Right, no more murder. Can I at least hex him?"

Harry wanted to care but he honestly didn't. He closed his eyes in exhaustion. "Just as long as you don't get into any trouble. Good night."

"Right, promise," Tom replied. "Night."


	10. Devil's Advocate

"…and the shocking news of the mysterious death of the famed alchemist has wreaked havoc on the Wizarding World. The Ministry of Magic has refused to comment about anything pertaining to the whereabouts of the only know philosopher's stone in existence, simply named 'The Philosopher's Stone'.” Harry set the morning copy of the Daily Prophet down and folded his arms on the dining table. “What in Morgan's name is a philosopher's stone?"

Hagrid, sitting across from him, shrugged his great shoulders. "Yeh got me, Harry. I never even heard'a Nicolas Flamel."

"Well, I have," Harry whispered cautiously, glancing weary-eyed at the Slytherin table. Tom was noticeably missing from his usual seat. "I heard a few of those Death Eaters mention his name in the common room recently."

With a cringe, Hagrid shushed the small boy before anyone picked up on their conversation. Several surrounding Gryffindors were already giving the two friends odd looks, making them both feel somewhat uncomfortable as it was. "Don' call them tha', Harry! I reckon if they find out it were you that let tha' slip, they'd be back ter givin' us trouble."

"I know but I'm sure Tom's involved somehow. I'm not saying he's done anything, Hagrid, it's just- he's just been acting so strange again – What in the hell are you looking at, Ogden?" Harry was suddenly glaring across the table at a stocky, wiry-haired boy. "Mind your sodding business."

Tiberius Ogden, the boy who would be replacing Minerva as Gryffindor Seeker their next year, scoffed and nudged Dorcas Meadowes' shoulder. An avid hunter and fame-seeker, Tiberius only kept with the best and brightest of Hogwarts. He had half of McGonagall's talent and none of her class and he drooled at a chance to be a part of Tom's elite. "Or what, Gaunt? You'll get your brother's drones after me, too? Why don't you go back to your own kind, eh?"

"My own kind?" Harry asked him. "What exactly is　 _my kind_?"

"Now look here, Tiberius!" Hagrid howled, raising a pointed finger at him. "Harry's a good lad, so yeh know! He's got every righ' ter sit here."

"My God, man,　 _you_ 　hardly have any right to sit here - let alone ‘Mr-Perfect-Head-Boy's little runt of a brother’," Ogden spat. Dorcas giggled under her hand. Both sixth and seventh year Gryffindors turned their noses up at the half-giant and his mischievous friend. "Go suck on some flobberworms!"

"Lick streeler venom!" Harry shot back. Being called a runt again hit him hard. He had grown quite a bit over his time at Hogwarts and felt the nickname was completely uncalled for. Being in constant company of Hagrid or Tom would make anyone look a lot smaller than they truly were.

"Oh, I know," Dorcas injected, pointing a skeletal finger at the end of the Hufflepuff table. "You two could go sit with the other Slytherin cast-offs like Dolohov over there. I'm sure he wouldn't mind a bit of company."

Following her direction, Hagrid and Harry spotted the poor boy sitting next to Grugwyn Rufford, looking pathetically sad while learning the art of playing a proper game of Gobstones. Armon's face was covered in gooey liquid of all colours that leaked into the collar of his robes. Harry thought he might rather visit Aragog in the Forbidden Forest on a daily basis rather than be forced into playing the boring, disgusting game.

"No thanks," Hagrid mumbled quietly, clearly sharing his sentiment.

Harry turned to his friend, taken aback by how incredibly trifling the banter had ended and that he had been caught up in it enough to hurl insults. There were much more important things brewing in their lives. He snapped his fingers in front of Hagrid's face to garner his attention, dispensing the vicious snarl on the larger boy's visage. "Anyway, what I think we should do is find a way to get into the Restricted Section and read up more about this stone and what it's used for. I'm guessing-"

"He thinks he's so smart sitting there reading his post and wishing he were as wonderful as his brother," Dorcas added loudly, breaking his concentration.

Rolling his eyes, Harry's head snapped back toward the two idiots. "Shouldn't you be studying really hard for your N.E.W.T's right now and not worrying about what I'm saying, Meadowes? Everyone knows how little you manage to retain even when you try your hardest."

The bony girl with thick glasses gasped and threw a hand up to cover her reddening neck.

It was Hagrid's turn to giggle gleefully. His large frame jiggled the Gryffindor dining table with each joyous chortle.

Harry jammed his copy of the Daily Prophet under his arm and stood up, still scowling at the two. "Let's go find some place where we won't be interrupted by all these fearless little sycophants trying to impress my brother."

Ogden gave the boys a two-finger salute as they walked off, shaking his head in abhorrence.

The instant they made their way to the Great Hall, Myrtle and Mina gave ample chase. They had been watching the two boys with intent throughout dinner. In their hands were gifts in wait of their new owners. "Harry, Harry, oh, Harry!" Mina bellowed in a chirpy voice, "You too, Hagrid – wait up!"

"Ooh, stop!" the half-giant whispered and tugged on his robes to straighten them out. He ran his fingers through his bushy hair, giving his friend a wink before they turned around. "Hullo, Bulstrode! You look might' lovely today," he returned enthusiastically, giving the hefty girl a bright grin.

Mina blushed pink. Myrtle was already sporting a set of flushed cheeks as she slowly approached Harry. "G-got this for you," she garbled, handing the boy a cello-wrapped parcel. "A belated happy Christmas, Harry."

Harry gaped at the squat girl, unsure of what to say. He looked down at the box in his hands, giving it a tiny shake. "What's this?" he asked her, feeling the innards shimmying around like sand.

Shoving her gift into Hagrid's hand, Mina simply beamed at him. "We spent all Boxing Day making biscuits for you."

Finding the exchange a bit more than irritating, Harry was in mid thought of how to ditch these two harpies when his eye caught a glint of light beaming off of Myrtle's blue Prefect badge. "Prefect," he breathed. His eyes lit up. "Myrtle, you could get into the Restricted Section if you needed to, right?"

"I suppose," she said, shrugging. "I could ask Professor Merrythought for a pass. I've been neglecting my studies on cursed objects and their effects on— _Ooh!_ "

Harry seized her arm and dragged her along with him. "She might still be in her classroom, c'mon!"

* * *

Tom paced along the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He was anxious and for good reason. If anyone was on to him, if anyone found him or tried to search him, they would be very sorry. He looked down at his watch before dropping his arm as if it weighed a million stone. He had no patience for waiting. Worry raced through his body. He had done the wicked deed he had promised never to do, for the man who he would grow into with time. He had massacred and purloined for Lord Voldemort.

He could not recall their last meeting. He couldn’t recall much of anything,now that he thought on it. All he could focus on was being at that spot when and where he was told to be and that he’d broken a huge promise to his brother. Or not his brother. Rather…

Only a week before, he had woken up to Merope sneaking into his room with the firm and maddened belief that Tom was actually his father, Mr Riddle. He had taken it upon himself to return her to St Mungo's. It was then when his lows got lower, crashing and burning like a decrepit building when he received the worst possible news: Harry could not possibly be his real brother. He had only wanted to be sure that Merope was not pregnant and had ordered some tests be done.

"I wouldn't dwell too far into that." A voice inside the forest echoed out through the trees. "We've been over this already. Harry's no less your brother than before you found out and his blood runs hot through your veins. We’ve seen to that personally."

Tom steeled himself in wait for Draco's appearance. He shoved his hand in his pocket, touching the thing he had stolen. "Where's Voldemort?"

Draco stepped into view, grinning. His impish features danced with elation. "He couldn't make it. He sends his apologies. Do you have it?" He held out a hand in wait for his prize, eager to wrap his fingers around his own future.

Fishing it out, Tom held the Philosopher's Stone up to the light of the sun. Like a great ruby, it glittered like nothing other.

Moving toward him, Draco snatched it up. "Such a good boy," he whispered, mesmerised by the stone's raw beauty. "You have yet to fail us. Well, except for that one very important thing you just can't seem to get into your thick skull."

Tom rolled his eyes. "Which is?"

Draco huffed in annoyance. "Harry. You still don't get it, do you?"

"We're fine, thanks," Tom returned, making a little noise in his throat. "Never better."

With laughter running thick with sarcasm, Draco stuffed the rock into his robes to stop himself from slapping some sense into the boy. "Sure, fine and dandy. He's still less of a Slytherin than the great rebel himself, Godric Gryffindor. How is that possible, Tom? How do you lead an army of Death Eaters to do your bidding in the future but you can't keep one little boy who loves you with all of his soul on a solid leash? He's already figured out that you have something to do with this. It's only a matter of time before Dumbledore picks up on it."

Inclining his head, Tom cleared his throat nervously. He was taken aback. "Harry knows?"

Draco nodded. "And he's got someone helping him. Someone who would love nothing more than to split the two of you apart."

"That's absurd," Tom reasoned. "That would never happen."

"Wouldn't it? You need to get him back in line before everything collapses around you. You're not a good guy, Tommy. You're about as bad as they come. He's not like you - not yet. What do you think will happen when he finds out you've murdered again? And trust me, he will find out."

Tom held up a rigid finger and pursed his lips. "No, I haven't murdered anyone since my father. And even then - you made me kill the Riddles. It wasn’t my idea. I didn’t want to do it."

"Course not. But you liked it. I remember."

"I don’t like it now," he replied calmly.

Draco was leaning against a thin tree, grinning at the boy with big teeth. "Whatever. You did kill the Flamels. I know this because I made you. I got special permission to use an Unforgivable on you when you resisted."

Tom looked away, averting his eyes. Tears threatened to spill forth but he hardened himself before that happened. "I don’t want Harry to ever find out."

"Are you going to keep him in the dark about everything? What about the news you got from St. Mungo's, Tom? That your mother birthed only one child and couldn't possibly get pregnant again? What do you think will happen when Harry's little brain wraps around the fact that you kidnapped him as a baby and forced him to grow up in squalor? You allowed his beatings and neglect to carry on to make him stronger. You murdered his real mummy and daddy; wealthy, happy people who loved him."

" _He_ 　did that—I didn't!"

"He and you are one, Tom. Will that matter to Harry whether you did it now or later? You still did it."

The thin tree exploded behind them. Tom growled in his throat. Draco fell to the ground. "That's right, get angry. Know now that it was you who did all of this to him and yourself. You've known for a week that he wasn't your brother. How does that feel?"

"I thought it was a mistake," he whispered. "They made a mistake. somehow. He can't not be my brother."

Draco scoffed. "Certified Healers attest to the facts, Tom. They aren't Muggles. I delivered Harry right into your mummy's arms on your direct orders."

Tom shook his head. "He's more like me than anyone else."

"Of course he is; he's holding part of your soul inside of him."

It was in his eyes. Draco spoke the truth. Tears slid down his cheeks. "I wouldn't do that. I'm not so cold."

Draco put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "There was a good reason for it. You've got to stop this separation between the two of you. Harry is a very important part of the close alliance that you created. Without him on our side the others inch closer to snatching him up. The longer you divide it the farther he slips away."

Tom blinked. "Alliance? Who else is a part of this?"

"Me, of course," Draco boasted. "Who else? Harry and I live to serve you, my Lord. "

That did not make Tom feel any better. "I see. And our enemies want Harry? Why?"

Draco held up a hand to stop him. "Don't try to understand it yet. Your job is to get Harry to recognise you as the only person in the world he can fully trust. If Gellert Grindelwald gets his hands on him – or worse, Albus Dumbledore; Harry will become a weapon to be used against you, a powerful nemesis you will not be able to defeat. I suspect that Dumbledore's already watching the two of you. It's only a matter of time before Grindelwald gets wind of your growing power."

Hearing that Harry could and would defeat him if he lost him crushed Tom's spirits. He knew, deep down inside of him, that Harry was too good for him, that he would lose him once he found out how evil he truly was. "You seem to know everything but you can't predict how this will turn out. Why is that?"

Looking at the ground, Draco kicked a small twig in frustration. "You're too goddamn intelligent for your own well being. I've already said too much. I don't need you diving into Dumbledore's business. That will not be your concern for a long, long time. Your directive right now is Harry and _only_ Harry. Got it?

"I want you to think of him as something more than just a boy Wizard you've kept company with. He is a possession, a priceless possession that belongs only to you. He is to be kept at your side at all times so that no one else can snatch him or taint his mind in any way. He is fiercely loyal to whatever he believes in. Make him believe in you."

Tom felt himself start to cry. He was to think of Harry as an object rather than his brother. He truly was a monster. "Are you serious? You want me to think of him as I would a pet?"

Draco snorted uncouthly under his hand. "Oh, he would claw your eyes out if he ever heard you say that. No, not as a pet; he truly is a part of you. His blood runs through you, your soul lives inside of him. By keeping him close you are protecting yourself. You and he are closely connected."

Tom blushed pink. "Is that why we're- is it why- we're attracted- I mean…"

Draco's eyes lit up. Tom was beginning to see now. "Yes, that's exactly why. It is why Harry can talk to snakes and you can imagine no other at your side. Think of it as a wondrous side effect."

"I do love him, Draco. I really do."

"I know you do. You must understand that the Harry I know is so unlike the child we see now. Speaking of which; he's in the Restricted Section as we speak and is about to fall into one of the greatest traps of all time. It should be quite familiar to you; it was how you were conceived. Get in there and stop that bloody Muggleborn girl from taking what is rightfully yours."

"Right," Tom said, pulling his wand free from his trousers. "When will I see you again?"

Draco winked at him, looking over his shoulder at the boy as he stepped into the forest. "We will be back very soon. There's something else we need to do."

* * *

Myrtle. Moaning, moping, pathetic Myrtle.

Tom gazed upon the girl hidden behind the second shelf of the Restricted Section. She sat across from Harry; legs bent and parted, with a hand twisting up the material of her skirt to show off the crotch of her knickers. At first glance it could have been innocent. They looked bookish in their school uniforms and thick glasses. Harry's awkwardly long legs were splayed out to hold the volume he was reading over. His finger moved along the passages as he read aloud to her. Her eyes followed his actions as if he were the only thing ever worth watching. The tainted parcel sat in wait for Harry. Tom could smell the familiar stench of Amortentia wafting from it.

It was obvious; she wanted him in the worst way. She was no better than Merope. The blood in Tom's veins thickened and blackened.

Curling a hand around the end of the shelf, Tom pulled himself inward to show his face to them. "What are you doing?" he asked, fixed on Myrtle. "Did you let him in here?"

Clapping the book shut, Harry dropped it beside him and forced a smile. "We aren't doing anything," he said weakly.　 _He lies._ 　"Myrtle was helping me with some research, that's all."

"I…" Myrtle's eyes shifted between Tom, Harry and the box. She stood up quickly and adjusted her skirt. "I was just going."

"Good," Tom said through a sneer, finding a dearth of empathy for the stammering clod. "Get the hell out of here before I report you."

Harry bit his lip, forcing himself not to retort. As much as he hated seeing Tom act like he was superior to Muggleborn students and anyone else who did not fit well enough into his criterion he was glad that his brother was shooing the annoying wailer off. She had done nothing but whine the entire time, making his enlightenment of the Philosopher's Stone a difficult task indeed. "See you around, Myrtle," he said, cringing.

Tom moved in the instant the gates clanked together, kicking the box of biscuits beside Harry as hard as he could. It hit a shelf and burst open, sending chocolate crumbs scattering everywhere.

There was something in his eyes, a pool of water as deep as the ocean that took Harry's breath as he crouched down in front of him. "They were poisoned," the older boy whispered pointedly, gesturing to the mangled lump on the floor. His hands rested limply over his knees and his fringe fell into his face. He smiled so softly, so confidently at Harry. "Love potion. She was going to seduce you."

"You don't say," Harry murmured, staring blankly at it. He gasped and tried to stand, suddenly remembering that Hagrid had received an exact replica of his box. "I have to—" Before he could move more than an inch or emit another word, Tom's eyes had darkened, his hands darted out and he took Harry by the arms to force him back down. Harry winced. "Tom, what are you doing?"

"I just want to know something," Tom said harshly. "Are you really this fucking stupid?"

Worming his way in between his thighs to thoroughly hold him down, Tom cupped his hand over the boy's face to place his lips to his throat. "Stop it," Harry whispered in a angry voice. There were hands everywhere, it seemed; rigid, long fingers pinching and tugging on him to hold him down. "Aren't you listening to me? God—" His lips were smothered in a kiss, his hands positioned behind his back. The capricious act was forceful and rude, something his brother had never done to him before.

Hands tightened, seized. Tom yanked him up and shoved him back against the shelf. "What were you doing in here?"

"What are you doing?" Molten blood soared hot through Harry's veins, scorching all sense of right and wrong. “Get your bloody hands off me.”

Tom held his hands up in the air and took a step back. He still looked bothered.

Harry flattened out his rumpled clothing to compose himself. "I read about the murders in the paper. I wanted to know what the Philosopher's Stone was."

There was no lie in Harry's words but Tom's gaze of contempt didn’t waver. "She would do anything to get you to notice her. She is a Mudblooded, filthy slapper who wants from you _everything_ 　that you've promised me."

Harry froze. "What? Are you still talking about Myrtle? I thought this was about Nicolas Flamel."

Tom's teeth clenched. "What in the fuck are you on about? Yes, Myrtle! She's trying to get into your fucking pants!"

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Don't be ridiculous. I didn't do anything with her."

"I didn’t say you did but you need to wake up. I can’t allow you to be this careless when you’re as important to me as you are."

“What is that supposed to mean?” Harry knew now what it must have felt like to be one of the ousted elite. The patient mask had slipped from Tom's visage. Never before had his brother looked upon him in this way; clouded, blinded from seeing anything other than distrust. No matter how much he loved him, Harry would not stand by and allow Tom to try and run his life for him ever again. “When will you shut up so I can leave here and not look at you again for a long time?” Again, he was shoved against the bookshelf, knocking several volumes to the floor. Harry's breath caught.

It seemed clear that his brother was going to hurt him, that if he could not control him with threats he would do it with violence, just as their uncle did when they were small children. The lights overhead were doused. Harry looked up, gasping with surprise. Electric pulses of magic rippled over his skin. Hands clamped down on his wrists, fingernails sunk deep into the skin. Harry inhaled a deep breath as adrenaline widened his eyes and tightened his muscles in preperation for the incoming onslaught.

"I need you to pay very close attention to what I’m saying," the older boy hissed, but Harry shoved him and tore away.

Tom scrambled to capture the floor-scratching, scrambling limbs before his escape took effect. The boy was trembling and inconsolable.　 _Grunting and gasping for oxygen, kicking, crying and thrashing about –_ But he was stronger, bigger, faster than he, and all too soon he was pinning his brother to the floor and silencing him with his hand, besting him. "Stop screaming, calm down! I'm not going to hurt you. Have I ever hurt you before—goddamnit, Harry, stop struggling!"

“You were!” Harry cried as his brother released him but had a tight grip on his wrist.

"Why would you think I'd ever hurt you?" Tom asked him, stunned. "I love you."

Harry sobbed as he curled into himself for comfort, and rocked in place like he used to when he was a child. “You may love me, but I saw it in your eyes. You looked like Morfin.”

Tom recoiled in horror. He was finally speechless.

Harry yanked his hand back but relaxed. “Are you alright?”

“I’ve truly lost myself,” he whispered. His eyes shifting around the dark room unable to focus on anything. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“Oh, come here.” Harry eased his brother inward to lean on him, putting an arm around his shoulder.

Tom had been dazed. “I never meant to lose control, especially when directed at you.”

Harry hugged him tighter. “I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me.”

“But I could have. I couldn’t think straight.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m not going to turn into him.”

“Morfin?”

“Lord Voldemort.”

“Who?”

“Some horrible person.”


	11. The Ghost of Tom Riddle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just going to upload the remaining chapters sometime today after I've given them all another look over. I'm sorry for any mistakes I may have missed, or if anything seems confusing. Time travel is something I will never write about again, oh my god it's the worst. Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy.

May 1946

A full year had come and gone. Blurry memories and fuzzy encounters danced in and out of the Gaunt boys' minds. Everything was real and nothing was clear. They recalled the force of potions, the burn of hexes, screaming, chasing, crying and hiding - but could not piece together why. They only had each other. They stayed in their room as long as they could. The only times they felt safe was when they were alone together.

Settled over a mound of feather pillows, arms extended, spread-out across the bed. Tom's head lolled into the soft stuffing to find more comfort. The bountiful lengths of his legs were bent at the knee, broadened by agile fingers coaxing the Head Boy’s pants down past his hips. He fully relaxed under the delicate pad of Harry's hand.

"Yeah, just like that."

Those fumbling, awkward jerking motions and bashful glances had faded over time, replaced by nimble control.

"Do you like that?" Harry stroked the underneath of Tom's hardness up and down with the feather-light tips of his fingers. He clasped it, eager to feel the jumps of greediness throb against his bare skin.

Tom's breath grew shallow and hot. "Yeah, that's really good."

"Tell me," Harry said puckishly, giving the rounded swell of the head a soft flick with the pad of his thumb. He twirled an index finger around in the lovely thatch of inky hair nesting around the boy's cock. "Why do you deserve this again? You've been such a bastard all week." The slight twinge of resentment in his tone did not go unnoticed.

Tom's tongue played along his bottom lip, wetting the chapped skin. "Because you love me," he replied.

Harry's lips hovered over the engorged phallus gripped tightly in his hand. He gave it a nimble lick and a soft, breathy blow. The head grazed along his cheek, his lips, his tongue and blunts of his teeth. He drew back, watching him dubiously. He planted a hand on his brother's inner thigh, feeling the flesh mold under his massaging palm. "Oh, do I?"

"Mhmm," Tom hummed fervently, screwing his eyes shut. Goose bumps rose rigid on his skin. Legs slid farther apart, each knee nearly touching the mattress. "You love me so much."

"Yeah, I do." A tongue trailed warm saliva around the exposed, swollen corona while a thumb gently pulled back the susceptible foreskin. Candy-green eyes swathed in charcoal lashes fluttered innocently. Harry pursed his lips in a smirk, stalling further action. "Any other reason?"

"Bastard." Curling his fingers around the top of the bedstead, Tom canted his hips. "Because it makes me really happy and you're so good at it. And I already did you so you owe me," he grunted, desperate for more contact.

"Yeah, you did. I can still feel it." A swirl of taut tongue circled the torrid glans. Saliva and pre-come glistened on Harry's lips. "I really love your cock," he whispered, looking upon it with thirst. He kissed the head, suctioning his mouth over the slit. "I like hearing you beg."

"We really should get on with it, I need to study," Tom whimpered through several unsuccessful bucks but Harry was stone. "My N.E.W.T's and your O.W.L's are coming up, you know."

Turning his nose to the air, the younger boy clicked his tongue and released his grip. "So study for your stupid exams. I'm not stopping you."

"No, wait—" Tom whimpered. Nothing in the world felt as right as it did to melt under Harry's spectacular will. "Please, please, I need this, c'mon."

"Sorry, didn't catch that," Harry said, holding a hand to his ear. "Maybe if you begged a little louder…" He nibbled on his bottom lip while surreptitiously peeping on Tom from under his lashes.

Tom huffed. "Oh, shut up, idiot." The dip of his spine bowed, toes dug into the mattress. Fingernails clawed into the wooden carvings on the headboard. "Whatever, what do you want me to say?"

"Nothing, oh great Head Boy," Harry sulked. "Nothing at all."

"Oh," Tom pouted. He sucked in his lower lip, biting it painfully hard while giving his brother the sweetest doe-eyed look he could muster.

Harry rubbed his hands together briskly to warm them back up. "Okay, okay," he conceded, unable to withstand the tug on his heartstrings. "You look so pathetic."

Tom settled back into the mattress, feeling the firm, spine tingling pressure returned with a kiss on the sensitive skin. "Fuck, I love you."

The new Prefect inhaled deeply. That heady musk and soapy residue was like an addictive drug. "I love the way you smell." He nuzzled his cheek into the soft dark curls while his tongue darted out over his lip to lap along the base of the shaft. He ran it up along the length between the tips of his fingers. The raw silk skin and throbbing veins were distended to the limit. Hot, sticky liquid leaking from the slit was swept up and consumed. Harry mewed. "I love the way you taste."

It hadn't even begun; Harry had barely put his mouth on his cock when Tom felt the river of euphoria begin to crack the dam of control and trickle into his pelvis. His breath came out in raspy, short puffs. His muscles tensed. Irises rolled back into his head, lips parted in a heavy moan.

Harry perked upward while his hand worked gracefully over the shaft. He wanted to watch Tom come. His eyes were wide, unblinking and his mouth opened in naïve awe. His brother’s expression grew pained. He moaned in surrender and a hot splatter of ejaculate coated his chest and oozed over Harry's fingers. He was so beautiful like this. It was breathtaking to watch. "Gods," Harry gushed unintentionally, tantalized with the way he brought the other boy so close to heaven.

"Get over here." Yanking the smaller boy into his shaky arms, Tom had yet to open his eyes or release the bedding curled up in his toes. The blood rushing through his veins and thrumming in his ears began to slow somewhat, clearing his head.

Harry had snuggled into the crook of his arm and rested his head on his chest.

Tom looked down at him, aching. The ache for Harry never went away. "When are you gonna let me try it?" he whispered, wondering if Harry was readily falling asleep. His breath was light and airy, his body fully relaxed. "You know… sex. I promise it won't hurt. We'll go really slow and everything. I won't hurt you."

"Never," Harry shot back, tensing. "Why isn't doing this good enough?"

"It is. I didn't mean it like that. I just want us to try everything, you know? It's amazing how close you can be. You actually become one being. It's more than pleasure… I mean, it would be between you and me. I just want us to be as close as we can be."

Harry exhaled a sleepy breath while he drew a fingertip through the warm mess on Tom’s chest. He brought his finger to his mouth and licked it clean. "I swallow your come all the time. I think that makes us close enough."

"Sorry, I won't bug you again about it." Tom sighed and nibbled on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying anything else that might ruin the moment.

Harry shifted closer. "Go clean up and come back. Leave your whining in the loo."

Tom kissed the top of his sweat-dampened hair.　“You look knackered. We'll study later." Wrapping a sheet around him, he tiptoed out of the dormitory.

A noise caught his brother’s attention as he peeked his head out to watch him leave. It was a shuffling sound on the floor but no one was there. This wasn’t the first time he recalled hearing something from nothing. He withdrew back behind the curtain, concerned. No one but Tom and he could open it, he was safe from whatever gave him worry, or so he thought.

The curtain moved and Harry grinned, believing it was Tom who had returned. “That was fast…” His words drifted off. Something shifted over the mattress beside him and before he could move or scream a hand materialized from nothing. It reached out to him and everything went black.

~@~

The next day was more interesting than the one before. Gnawing brutally on the end of his quill, Harry's mind was racing at the speed of light. He could hardly pay anymore attention to Hagrid's blubbering testimonials of love for Mina Bulstrode. As much as he wanted to help the poor lug out of the situation he was in there were more pressing issues to deal with.

Firstly, he was sure he had seen his father.

The man did not appear to be a ghost. He was solid, dressed in a handsome suit and wearing a brimmed hat that nearly covered the salt and peppery hair on his temples. It was unmistakable. Harry had nearly fallen off his broom when he spotted him, and in a blink of an eye – he had vanished. It made no sense at all. How could a dead man with no magical ability be alive and well and watching him practice his flying techniques at Hogwarts, no less?

Secondly, he was sure this wasn’t the first time he had seen him, but he wasn’t sure why.

Hagrid heaved a dejected sigh. "Oh, Harry, have yeh seen her eyes? They're like sapphires."

Desperate to get Tom out onto the pitch for a bit of fresh air, he had pleaded with him to try his luck at flying. Of course he refused, asserting that flying was far too corporeal an activity and would in no way aid him in his studies. And, at first, he was sure it was his brother who was watching him. Standing alone on the grass, looking as tall and graceful as a Greek statue. It had sent fluttering butterflies bounding around in Harry's stomach. As quickly as it came, as he got closer to the earth, terror smote every happy little squirm.

"…like a bouquet of violets all bunched together. And ter think I nearly forgo' her birthday! Have yeh seen her eyes, Harry?"

Annoyed beyond reason, Harry dropped the gnarled quill on the desk and gaped at the half-giant. Trying to concentrating on anything had turned into a brilliant disaster. "I don't have time to think about Bulstrode's beady-little eyes, alright? What about my father?"

"An' her hair's like spun sunligh'…" Hagrid hadn't heard a word the boy had said. His mind was fixed on Mina. He was far too gone to be rescued.

Harry needed to find Tom. He was worried that he might not believe him, or if he even believed himself. Insanity ran thick throughout his family. Who was to say that he wasn't starting to see things like his mother?

"Her hair's black, Hagrid," he attested, staring at him.

Hagrid shrugged. "Yeh know, figuratively speakin'."

Harry blinked. "Figuratively speaking? Her hair is black; it can't possibly resemble spun sunlight in any way at all."

"What about at nigh'?"

Holding up a finger, ready to scream bloody murder, Harry took a heaving breath and stood up from the library table. He shoved his books into his bag, no longer caring whether he failed every single O.W.L. He had to get out of there, get outside and breathe in some fresh air. "Go see Professor Slughorn like I told you. Go. Now."

Hagrid nodded absently. "All righ'. An' if yeh see Mina, tell her I love her."

Shaking off the twisting dread lumped up in his stomach, Harry moved quickly through the rows of tables to escape. Turning back to look over the heads of the students furiously studying, hoping to spot a glimpse of Tom, he bumped hard into another person. Landing on his bottom, he looked up with an apology on his lips. "Sorry- Oh, hullo, Professor," he said, taking Albus's outstretched hand. "Sorry about that, not really myself today." With glasses askew and books everywhere, he knelt back down to gather his belongings.

Albus smiled amusedly at him before waving his hand over the mess. Instantly, all of the parchment and texts nestled back into their sheath before Harry had even begun. "How are you doing in your subjects, my boy?" he asked him.

Mystified at the revelation of Dumbledore's power, Harry gaped in awe at the man. All of that talk Tom sputtered about how great he was had never fully sunk in until that moment. He slung his bag over his shoulder and snapped his gaping mouth shut. "I didn't know you could perform wandless magic, sir. That's brilliant!"

With a chuckle of mirth, Dumbledore's cheeks flushed bright pink. "A little, here and there when needed. Now, about those subjects," he continued, looking down his long, crooked nose. "I'm expecting to see top marks out of you and it has nothing to do with you being Tom's younger and feistier brother."

"Course it doesn't," Harry said in a sardonic drawl. He made a little face, eliciting another jovial laugh from the older man.

Harry adjusted his glasses and, suddenly, the baby blue eyes behind the half-moon spectacles widened and narrowed in avid curiosity. A hand reached out, flipping away the messy fringe splayed over Harry's forehead. A cool fingertip, bold in its action, traced along the zigzag line of the scar above his eyebrows. "Interesting," Albus murmured quietly, unable to take his gaze off of the mark. "How did you get this?"

Harry shrugged, frowning. He hated it. It was ugly and troublesome, always giving him problems. "No idea, sir, but I wish I didn't."

"You've always had it?"

"Yes, sir," he said blindly. "Why?"

Albus blinked from a daze and smiled. He clasped his hands in front of him and rocked on the balls of his feet. "How's your mother? Merope, was it? Merope Riddle."

Harry's jaw set. "She goes by Gaunt."　

The teacher threw up a mock look of fond reflection. It became obvious exactly how brilliant Dumbledore truly was, in more than just magical ability. He was always asking questions that jumpstarted the panic in Harry's insides. "She's fantastic, really."

Albus had either accepted the answer or chose to hide his uncertainly, because he smiled so brightly at that moment, as if the planets were aligned in perfect harmony. "That's excellent, Harry. May I ask, though, why you're leaving the library when you should be studying?"

Harry cringed. "Oh, I… er… I just forgot something in my room. I promise I'll study extra hard tonight."

Albus tipped his head. "I'm counting on it. As you were, my boy."

Taking one step before halting, Harry turned back around. If anyone would know the answer to what was nagging at his conscience it would have been Dumbledore. "Professor?"

Still standing and watching him, Albus regained his smile. "Yes?"

"Erm, can Muggles be ghosts?" he asked him circumspectly. "And if they could, would they look transparent like the Bloody Baron or solid like you and me?"

Dumbledore ran his long fingers over his grey and auburn beard. "Excellent question. Hmm, yes, I do believe that Muggles can become ghosts and they would more than likely appear as the Baron does. Why do you ask, Harry?"

"I was just wondering." Harry felt torn for trusting this man so much when Tom had warned him not to. "Well, it's just that…" The man was looking into his eyes the way Tom did when he was searching for truth or lies, but Harry pushed that aside. It was no secret that their father had died. He only hoped that Dumbledore didn't dwell any further into the subject as to why or how. "It's just that I thought I saw my father. Err, my dead father. I'm sure I saw him while I was fly…" The words died off as his hand flew up to his forehead.

 _Pain_. It was so brilliant and unbearable; it seemed to split Harry's head in two. He turned away with a wince. He doubled over, unable to contain the blistering yelp caught in his throat. He pressed his fingers over his scar, feeling sticky, warm blood trickle down into his eye and pool into his palm.

"Harry," Albus said with intense concern, gripping the boy's shoulder. "Harry, are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I have to go," the boy whimpered, biting his lower lip. He ran toward the door, ignoring Dumbledore's concerned calling.

~@~

The corridors were all but deserted. Harry was quite thankful for that. He mopped at the scar and his mouth with the sleeve of his robes, having retched twice on the spot. He pulled his wand free and dissipated the mess.

_"Turn around slowly."_

Harry gasped and spun around.

It was him – it was Mr Riddle calling him. Dressed in the same chocolate brown suit and brimmed hat, his father reached out to the boy. " _It's okay, sweetheart. Don't be afraid of me._ _Come to me. Take my hand._ "

A horror settled over Harry like frost. A cloak of spine-chilling cold froze his whole being. He stumbled backward, shaking his head in denial. It was apparent that Muggle ghosts were not necessarily transparent in form, as this man looked very much solid and very much alive. "You stay away from me," he said breathlessly. "I didn't do this! I didn't do anything!"

The ghost smirked at the child's terror. He snorted under his breath and gritted his teeth as he probed into his mind in order to read his thoughts. Harry's fright had set in deep, he would either choose to stand and fight back or run. The latter option did not sit well with the tall, dark and handsome man. "Stay where you are, boy. Do not run away from me." He pulled a wand out of his jacket.　

Harry gasped. _And apparently Muggle ghosts also use magic._ The tip was pointed directly at him and the words of a Stunner Spell were forming on the phantom's lips. The thick tar of fear dissipated under Harry's legs. He screamed the word　 _"—Protego!—",_ and turned and ran as hard and fast as he could, feeling the brunt force of the spell explode against the force shield surrounding him.

He thundered through the corridors. Blasts of light slammed against the walls all around him, trouncing the shield. The dungeon walls dripped with stagnant water and moss, making the stone floor a slippery entrapment to have to manoeuvre. The Slytherin common room was nearly in his grasp.

"You get back here, you defiant little rogue!" the ghost shrieked at him from a distance. His pounding footfalls drew closer. Harry's heart thumped wildly in his chest. His fingernails scraped along the corner wall as he threw himself forward and called out the password as quietly as he could. The wall opened up, Harry stumbled through and dove onto the big green couch, into his brother's book-covered lap. Parchment scattered everywhere and the Head Boy yelped with a start.

"What the hell?" Tom cried, thoroughly tackled against the cushions. He gripped the robes covering his brother's shoulders and shoved him upward to look at him. "Are you all right?"

Harry jerked around, scrambling to get his wand untangled from Tom's jumper in order to point it at the opening. Blessedly, it closed silently without another soul stepping inside. He sat, shaking, wand firmly outstretched in wait. "He's alive," he whispered through heavy panting, at last replying to his brother's frantic questioning. "Or not… I dunno what I saw."

Tom now had his wand drawn. He pulled himself and Harry up slowly from the couch and wrapped a protective arm around his waist. "Take a deep breath and speak clearly. What in the hell has spooked you so badly."

"Our father was chasing me. He was trying to kill me," he said quietly. "He's out there – he has a wand."

"What?" Tom's wand hand dropped to his side. He rested his chin on the top of Harry's head, waiting for the smaller boy to relax.　"C'mon," he said softly, pocketing his wand and giving him a little tug. "Let's go to my room and talk about this."

The knots in the boy's muscles came untied. He nodded, letting his brother lead him away.

~@~

"You smell like vomit," Tom advised him, scrunching his nose. He snapped his fingers and pointed to the robes encasing Harry's form. "Take that off."

"We have to tell someone," Harry said in a whinging breath. He pulled his robes over his head and balled the material up before tossing it to Tom. "This is a sign. He's going to haunt us forever."

Tom circled the chair he had shoved Harry back into it. "Do you fucking realise how much trouble I'll get into if we tell someone that I killed the Riddles? Have you gone completely mad?"

Harry's mouth went dry. He shook his head violently. "You know I don't want you to get into trouble, but I think we can trust Professor Dumbledore. He seems like a very reasonable—"

Tom's eyes grew wide. "No! He, of all people, should never know our business! Don't you get it? He's been watching us! No, we're not telling anyone." He bent forward to look Harry in the eyes. "They'll send me to Azkaban Fortress for the rest of my life and they'll release Morfin - and you would have to go back to him. Is that what you want?"

Harry sat in stunned silence. He shook his head quickly before focusing on the floor. "If you told them what happened, he was going to kill you. I think if you explained it to Professor Dumbledore, he would help us."

Tom wasn't sure whether he had laughed aloud or screamed at the irony but Harry nearly jumped from his skin at the sound. He dropped to his knees in front of his brother, grasping the smaller boy's hands. "Listen carefully; because I'm not going to say it again," he whispered lowly, "Mr Riddle did not try to kill me."

Bewildered, Harry cocked his head to the side. "Huh?"

"I'm telling you the truth. It was the Imperious Curse to make it look as if he were trying to kill me, so you wouldn't hate me for what I had to do."

"No," Harry said blankly. "No you didn't, shut up." He tried to stand up, but Tom shoved him back against the chair.

"Sit down, Harry, I'm not finished." He held him more forcefully. "Everything that happened that day, every detail was set up," he confessed hotly. “Morfin losing his wand, Mr Riddle coming to take you back. Everything.”

Harry swallowed another lurch of bile inching up in his esophagus. He was dizzy with disorientation and the throbbing pain in his head, verging on losing consciousness. His tongue felt thick, his words slurred. "Did you kill Nicolas Flamel?"

Tom gave him a sharp nod, sensing that odd twinge of regret surface once more inside of him. Harry looked as if he might retch all over him. He had turned a disconcerting shade of pasty-white and repeatedly swallowed and grimaced. "I was forced to."

“What do you mean?”

Tom wrapped his arms around him, hugging him tight. Harry's cheek rested on his shoulder; he could feel the steadied flow of hot, moist breath against his neck. "There's these men," he finally admitted, having never mentioned them to Harry before. It wasn't that he didn't want to, it was that he couldn't. "I've seen so many things that I shouldn't. I know things I don't want to know."

"What are you talking about?"

He was entranced with sorrow, forced to do the unthinkable in order to ensure that this future for them would be one of greatness. "I killed our father on orders to do so." Taking a painfully deep breath, he slumped into his brother’s embrace. "It's not a ghost you saw, it was me. You saw the older version of me."

 _"Not good, Tom. Thought I told you to keep your fucking yap shut to Harry on this one thing."_ Both black-haired boys' heads rose and turned, eyes locked on the violent icy-grey irises staring them down. A sculpted stick of hawthorn was flicked menacingly in their direction. Merope's guardian angel was none too pleased at the older boy's confession. Harry was never supposed to know of anything dastardly Tom or he did behind his back.  _"—Expelliarmus!—"_ 　Tom's wand ripped through his trousers and landed in man's hand.

Harry drew his wand but that was promptly removed, too.

Draco Malfoy centred his anger on the younger version of his master. Over a decade of work was lost. Neither Gaunt was anything like their older selves; wicked or mad. "Idiot boy. You’ve done nothing right. No matter how many times we fix you _you keep breaking_!"

"I…" Tom's voice stalled as he watched another man enter the dormitory and stand beside Draco. He stood as tall as a god, with raven-black hair speckled with grey, dressed sharply and smirking back at him with disdain. His presence was terrifying. Lord Voldemort had finally made his appearance. Harry's grip on his brother's waist cinched.

Arrogance radiated around him like a mink coat. He lit a cigarette and glanced to his side at Malfoy. "Care to explain to me what just happened? Why do they look like they've both just pissed themselves?"

"This one," Draco hissed, again flicking his wand in Tom's direction, "told that one our little secret about murdering the Riddles. Doesn't matter how many times we warned him not to. What are we going to do, wipe it out?"

"I had to tell him," Tom spoke nervously, hardly able to break eye-contact with his elder self. "You scared the hell out of him!”

"That's ridiculous," Voldemort said, waving it off. He moved forward and shoved Tom away, revealing the hidden young man behind him.

Draco quickly gripped Tom's wrist to keep him from interfering.

Lord Voldemort's scarlet eyes lit up in delight. "Ah, there you are," he purred lecherously, looking Harry up and down. "Merlin, I forgot how delicate you were back then." He reached out, grazing the boy's cheek with the pads of his fingers. "With skin as soft as tissue paper, and your eyes still sparkled with clarity. My sweet Harry...the only possession I have ever loved."

Tom felt as if he'd fallen for some sort of horrible ruse. He was supposed to become this man standing in front of him? He was to become a Dark Lord, the conqueror of the Wizarding World, who thought of his brother, his best and only friend in the world, as a trinket - but he was nothing like this. He was not this man, so icy cold with no life twinkling in his eyes. He would fight this future with everything he had. He would never become this monster.

Lord Voldemort flicked his cigarette across the room to slip an arm around Harry's waist, drawing him up and into his embrace. A charming smile curled on his lips while soft fingers brushed the blood-caked hair away from his cheeks. "Oh, my precious sweetheart, you're trembling," he whispered. "Don't be afraid of me, Harry. I'd never hurt you. Don't you recognise me? It's me, your brother, Tom."

Draco snorted and jammed his wand into Tom's neck once the boy began to protest his older self manhandling his brother. "We really shouldn't linger, my Lord. The other students will be returning soon."

"Quite right." Voldemort spun Harry around, twisted an arm up behind his back and cupped a hand over his mouth. He nudged him forward with his body, encouraging the boy to start walking by pressing his lips to the shell of his ear. "Plenty of time to get more acquainted once we're alone together in the deep dark dungeon. After you, sweetheart.”

Moving deeper into the corridors of the dungeon, where light would never touch and no one would hear their screams, Tom found his last vestiges of bravery flitting away. He and Harry exchanged nervous glances every few seconds. He had to stay strong for him. Harry was already in shock, and the impression both boys were gathering from this kidnapping was that neither would be walking away unscathed. His older self was nuzzled up against the younger boy, whispering Parseltongue slithering into his ear while he pressed their forms as closely together as he could while walking. Tom stopped, refusing to budge another inch. "Leave him alone! What are you going to do to us?"

"I'm the only one asking questions," Draco snapped, twisting Tom's arm roughly upward behind his back to keep him docile. "Why haven't you killed Myrtle yet, hmm? Haven't we gone over this?"

"I don't want to," Tom spat back. "No more! I'm not doing anything else for either of you."

"Oh yes you fucking will, you little brat. Believe me."

Harry flinched at the repulsion in Draco's words. Voldemort smiled as he held him still and kept him voiceless. "You don't want to interrupt them, my love, this is important," he whispered in his ear. "I don’t let that bother me anymore, Tom needs this. And Draco knows what he's doing. Now, be a good boy; stay very quiet, and keep walking for me." He removed his hand from the boy's mouth while inhaling the scent of innocence and fear radiating from Harry's every pore. "Can I trust you, Harry?"

"Are you really him?" Harry asked boldly, looking back at man standing behind him. "Are you really Tom?"

"Yes." Lord Voldemort gave him a nod. "Of course I am, Harry."

"The Tom who grew up with me in Little Hangelton?" the boy asked, not convinced. This man, although the spitting image of their father, was smooth, cocky, arrogant in a way Tom had only briefly shown glimpses of himself as. Tom would never force him to do something he did not want to do, or drag him off into the depths of the dungeon. It was difficult to think this man and Tom were the same person. "Are you truly Tom, the one who protected me from Morfin? The one who raised me because our mother had gone mad?"

Lord Voldemort shrugged as he searched his memories of his youth that involved Little Hangelton, but came up short. Only fleeting glimpses of being a small child, terror-stricken as he watched a tall wraith filling a vial with his young brother's blood before turning on him, forcing him to drink it, sprang to mind. What happened before or after was absent. "Sort of," he mumbled. "Does it matter? I'm still he, Harry. Same DNA, same parents, same magical power." He cupped the boy's face to keep him from turning away. "Look at me. Can't you see it?"

His eyes were red. Harry's stomach lurched. "It does matter...and, no...I don't see him at all in you."

Tom was still arguing with the white-haired man. "…I won't do it."

The Dark Lord scowled at Harry's rejection. "It doesn't matter, Harry. I'm your future. I'm your keeper. You'd be lost without me; because you're dirty blood is tainted, and you're weak, and mad as a hatter. I'd have killed you long ago if I'd thought better of it. Your goddamned love magic is the only thing keeping you alive. Without me you're nothing."

"Why do you always resist?" Draco shoved Tom into the wall. He grabbed a handful of hair, wrenching his head back. "You've already killed her; she just doesn't know it yet. It's a part of you, Tom. It's in your blood."

"No it's not!" Harry cried, infuriating the Dark Lord. "Tom, don't listen to him, he's lying!"

"Insolence," Voldemort breathed. Something was off again, he could sense it. Both boys were growing increasingly wary of their intentions, needing to be dragged away from their room when they should have been able to walk along side them.

Harry lunged forward, but Voldemort yanked him back. "Where do you think you're going?"

The boy ignored him to hiss threats at the white-haired devil accosting his brother. "Leave him alone and let him go!"

Tom held up a hand to calm his brother down. "Harry, don't do anything rash."

"Shut up!" Voldemort wrenched Harry's arm up a notch, but this time it did not seem to frighten him. The boy kicked back, catching Voldemort’s knee, painfully so.

Losing concentration, Draco turned abruptly to assist his master. Tom balled his fist and swung hard, hitting the pointy-faced blond in the nose. The offending wand fell to the floor and rolled away into the shadows.

There were hands everywhere; tearing, ripping, scratching. This situation was growing quickly out of control.

It was so bloody obvious that something here in the past had gone terribly wrong. Again. Tom and Harry were not responding anymore as they had been earlier. The Dark Lord could not recall this happening, or this passion the two carried for the other. Never in a million years would he have foreseen this violent escalade erupt before them. He and Malfoy must have muddled something again, somewhere. How hard can it be to make you become you?

"What in the hell is happening?" Draco shouted, cupping his bloodied face in horror.

The boys were no longer carrying this bond to him; they had somehow become their own entities.

Stun them!" Voldemort ordered, holding both boys by their necks. His back was against the wall for support. Forgetting he could just call it, Draco immediately dropped to the dirty floor. His hands were outstretched and searching for any sign of his wand.

Harry screamed as white-hot pain pulsed through his scar. He looked up through the speck of consciousness, seeing Voldemort shove his brother as hard as he could against the stone corridor. There was a flash of brilliant red light, then another, and all went dark.

Draco wiped his nose off on his sleeve. He was shaking as hard as Harry had been when he first appeared. "What the fuck was that about?" he muttered, looking down at the two unconscious boys lying at their feet.

"Isn't it obvious?" Lord Voldemort brushed the dirt off of his suit before leaning back against the wall again to light a cigarette. He pulled on it and sighed, exhaling a stream of white smoke while he nudged Tom's body onto his back with his toe. The boy was beautiful. He could not take his eyes off of his younger self. He stuffed his hand in his coat pocket, feeling the cold glass of a phial under his fingertips. It had taken a year to perfect the potion. Its contents would now halt nearly all growth and aging, and it was ready for them. "We'll have to put a wait on the Elixir of Life," he said, turning away. "There's something wrong."

"I think it had to do with Harry not knowing who we are, my Lord."

"That's the point, Draco," Voldemort said. His chest rose and fell with heavy breath. He gazed to the younger boy. "He’s afraid of me.” He then pointed to Tom. “And so is he."

“We’ll go back further.”

“You know as well as I that we’ve done the best we can at every age, up until this point. I’m spending more time on this than anything else now. You’ll have to go about this with a different approach.”

Draco gritted his teeth. He hadn’t seen his family in months. “Yeah, a different approach. I’ll get right on that.”

Lord Voldemort took one last look at his younger self before pulling the Time-Turner free from his shirt. "This time it had better work," he said, twisting the dials. "Fix it."


	12. The Master's Boy

The lavish candlelit study nestled the form of a man hunched over his work. Fingers walked along the yellowing parchment scattered around his desk. Draco Malfoy was never one to give up on a challenge, but this paradox issue had him stumped. He spent weeks going over the journals he had gathered from the slaughtered historians who had rescued Merope Gaunt, learning everything he could about the risks and dangers of altering a timeline to serve ones needs. It dawned on him then; rather hit him in the head like a sledgehammer; that he and Lord Voldemort had majestically and completely fucked everything up.

It was a miracle in itself that both Tom and Harry were not only alive in the future, but had any recollection of their conscious pasts. The two men had somehow created a universe overlapping the other. There was no repairing it, there was no starting over. Going back any farther into the past would only add another layer upon the others, further distancing the boys from their future selves.

Somehow, he had to convince the Dark Lord to see this blunder for what it was.

"Any breakthroughs yet?" The voice was soft, almost passing Draco's notice.

He pulled off his reading glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. Failure was not in his vocabulary. He felt cornered and wet behind the ears, but that wouldn't stop him from finding another way. He turned in his chair, facing the tall man. "You want the good news or the bad news first?"

Lord Voldemort sat down opposite Draco's desk. "I don't ever want to hear bad news."

_So I shouldn't tell you that you haven't learned a goddamn thing from any of this and you're creating your own paradox by refusing to learn what being a true human being is really about? Or that trying to force your younger self to learn this has made him rebel against you, and now he wants nothing more than to be as unlike you as humanly possible? Sure, you'll accept that._

"Well then," Draco murmured, gathering his notes. "We'll start again tomorrow where your memories of the past begin to get blurry, which happens to be right after you left Hogwarts. Tom seems to care for Harry regardless of knowing that they weren't brothers and has only cryptic knowledge of Harry's powerful abilities. This is also the point in time where　 _you_ 　stopped feeling – for lack of a better word – emotions."　

"I haven't stopped feeling emotion, Draco," Voldemort corrected him, annoyed. "I'm still very, er I still feel…"

" _You feel nothing for anyone other than yourself."_

Harry was there.

Without looking up, Lord Voldemort kept his grief-laden visage hidden. He carefully closed the biography, 'The Chosen One' and shoved it under a stack of parchment before it was seen. "Sweetheart, what are you doing up so early?" he asked, forcing a small smile on his lips as he faced his brother. "I'm worried about you. You've been so ill. You look skeletal, brother. You should stay in bed, let me care for you."

"Right, Tom. Good line about your worry...did Draco write that for you?" Harry smirked. "Don't pretend to be concerned about my ill health, you insult my intelligence. Sociopaths don’t care how other people are doing."

Draco scattered to hide his work before Harry took any notice. He slipped everything into a drawer and locked it up as quietly as possible before standing up to address his comrade. "Evening, Harry," he said through a relieved sigh. He wiped the perspiration from his brow and licked his dry lips.  _If he ever knew what they had done_ …

He was their secret weapon, more precious than any material object in existence. A wielder of the elusive Love Magic, he was the confidant of Lord Voldemort and the only man in the Wizarding World who kept the opposing sides from obliterating mankind.

It was a great humiliation to the Dark Lord not to be able to understand such a gift. Dumbledore had not needed others to fight his battles; he could wield it, too.

Harry stood leaning in the doorway playing with a lock of his hair. He twisted the raven-black wisp around between his fingers before stuffing his hand into his pocket. He was eternally beautiful, clumsy; drugged to keep him sleepy, controlled; just as the Dark Lord had wanted him. Harry's cloudy eyes shifted from one to the other. "Malfoy," he acknowledged in a pleasant tone, tipping his head at the blond. His vision moved around the now empty desk, his curiosity piqued. "What are you up to? You were both working on something when I entered. Can I help you with anything?"

"It's nothing, really," Draco mumbled under his breath. "Just some technical babble with that proposed ceasefire in order for that Weasley family to have a wedding in peace. We were considering it. You know - for you, Harry. I know how fond you are of them, and the half-giant, Hagrid, and he's on the open guest list."

Harry's melancholy façade slipped. He scowled at the two, seeing them both do their utmost to lie to his face without detection. Neither were ever successful. His chest rose and fell with noisy hot breaths. "Why are you two are always hiding things from me? The Weasleys invited me, too - of course I'm going. It's my right! They're my friends, _Tom_ , no matter how much you hate them." He glared at his older brother's hasty movement to silence him. He began mentally preparing to flee this big old haunted house forever. "Fuck this: maybe I won't come back- _don't touch me! "_

“Relax.” Lord Voldemort had crossed the room in mid rant and put a hand on Harry's arm, gripping it tightly to prevent him from recoiling too far. He pulled his brother into his arms, resting his head for him onto his shoulder. This loving way of controlling the younger man always took the edge off of his fury. "We've been over this before; we’re not hiding anything from you. It's all in your mind. You know deep down I would never betray you." He held him close, hugging him the way he'd watched his younger self hug him by stealing the memories from the Tom that Harry truly loved. "C'mon now, sweetheart. You're still sick. You're trembling to stay standing. I'm so worried about you. Please, go back to bed and get some rest, okay?"

The Dark Lord paused for a moment, to muster up the the unique feeling of something akin to affection that he held for his younger brother. It prickled at his black heart, pumping blood and adrenaline hot through his veins to stir it back to life. Only Harry gave him this sensation, or any sensation at all other than hatred. _"I want you to get better. I want us to be to close again, Harry. I love you,"_ he hissed lovingly into the younger man's ear. And he meant it. He was certain he meant it.

"Why are you doing this to me, Tom?" Harry clenched up with hate-fueled confusion as tears leaked from his eyes. The little glass containers lining the shelves around the room rumbled and a clock on the wall exploded. Yes, Voldemort’s little Horcrux had the power of an atom bomb at his emotionally messy little fingertips. " _You lie._ I don't believe you love me. And I don't think you ever did." He dropped his head against Voldemort's chest, conceding to his orders. The tears that had only just dried up began to flow freely once more. 

"Stop saying such things, you know I do, brother. I love you more than anything else in this entire world." Voldemort petted his hair softly until he felt Harry begin to soften. He hugged him close, placing a kiss on the nape of the boy's neck once Harry sighed from exhaustion, as he drifted off back to sleep. "That's right; that's my good boy," he praised, feeling the last of the strain disperse from Harry's muscles. He lifted his chin with a finger to wipe the tears away. The boy's eyes searched Tom's handsome face for truth, for love, shifting side by side in desperate hope. The Dark Lord smiled at him as warmly as he could manage. "Such a good boy, always listening to my words. Now off to bed with you, and take that potion on the night table. It'll stop the nightmares. It'll help you sleep."

Harry sniffled. "Okay, Tom." Once released, he disappeared into the corridor.

Draco dropped back into his chair, relieved that nothing important had been destroyed. "Holy fuck...he's getting worse."

The Dark Lord ignored this. There was only one thing on his mind. “He’s not going to that wedding.”

The apprentice agreed. “Of course not.”

"You are correct." Lord Voldemort carded a shaky hand through his hair. "He is getting worse. No matter what I do we grow farther apart." He turned on the young Malfoy with a scowl set hard on his features. "Do something about this."

"Right." Draco closed his eyes in irritation. The Dark Lord would never realise that the true answers were as close to him as his own heart. If only he could see that. "Have you had a moment to think about what I said before? About trying to repair it now, in this time?"

"I'm offering you eternal life and this is what you come up with?" His wand was in hand, his jaw firmly set. "I suggest you get back to work. I want results, and I want them now."

Draco chewed on the inner portion of his cheek until he was sure the other man had left the room. "Yeah, great," he said, throwing a book across the room, "some alliance we have. I feel completely confident and secure."

* * *

The thunderous ovation reverberated off of every surface in the Great Hall. Students cheered, pounded goblets on the tables and clapped unanimously as Tom Gaunt, Head Boy and one of the most brilliant students to ever grace Hogwarts, stepped away from the podium to join his fellow Slytherins at their table.

As proud as any living thing could be of another, Harry clapped his brother hard on the shoulder. "That was bloody amazing! Look at everyone; they're just so taken with you. You should run for Minister of Magic or something!"

"Bully that," Tom scoffed, shaking his head. "Although I wouldn't mind taking on a position in the—oh, thank you, sir, yes, I wrote the speech myself." He stood up from the interruption, tipping his head in appreciation at the headmaster and took his outstretched hand, giving it a firm shake. "It was a great pleasure being one of your students in the finest Wizarding School in the world. I will always treasure my time here under your tutelage."

Armando Dippet nearly squealed with giddiness. Everyone in the room knew that Tom was going to be someone very special some day. He was charming to a fault, highly intelligent; aspiring for perfection with every opportunity. He was damn near perfect. "And what are your big plans for the future? I admit that I'm not the only curious admirer at the teacher's table."

Tom hitched a thumb at Harry. "I was just about to tell my brother about a desire to work in the Ministry of Magic's Department of Mysteries. I've become recently fascinated with the possibilities of creating and harnessing new forms of magic."

The headmaster placed a hand over his heart, awestruck. "An Unspeakable, you say? I think that's a lovely vocation for someone so brilliant, if only to work the ladder up to Minister himself! I will compose a letter of recommendation this very afternoon and send it off to Madam Marchbanks, a personal friend of mine. We're all very proud of you." He gave a small nod to Harry, letting a sparkle of hope twinkle in his eye. "We see a bright future for you two. Well, I will leave you children to partake in the feast. Good luck to you, Tom."

"Oh gods, but that's fantastic! You're going to get… a letter… hey, you awake?" Harry gave Tom a cheesy grin, catching his brother leering at him out of the corner of his eye. The older boy had gotten lost in his own lust-filled world once again. It had been happening quite often lately. "Tart."

"Hmm?" Tom blinked awake. "What?"

Harry held up a treacle tart in front of Tom's nose. "I asked you if you wanted to try a tart."

Tom's tongue swept over his canine as his eyes narrowed in hunger. He gently pushed Harry's offering away, leaned in close to his ear to take the lobe between his teeth. "I'd love one," he growled.

"Your room or mine?" Harry breathed, quelling to the tease of long fingers working their way up his robes from under the table. He dropped the tart while shifting precariously, parting his thighs to allow Tom's fingers better access to his needy parts - but they stopped.

"I won't make it that far." Tom stood up and smiled at his fellow classmates one last time before making his way toward the doors.

Harry stuffed his pockets with sweets and counted to ten in his head before standing, tripping on the hem of his robes like a clod and racing to the doors to find his brother. He moved through the deserted hall in search, finding no sign of anyone else. "Where did you go?" he whispered, biting his lip. He touched the rail of the dungeon stairs, in mid-step until something large and strong grabbed him from behind.

"In here," Tom said harshly, dragging the boy along with him. His back hit a door. He reached behind him, fumbling for the knob while Harry struggled with the buttons on his brother's silver robes. Both boys fell into the darkness of the antechamber the instant the door parted from the frame, panting and clawing at the other's belt buckles.

Tom shoved him up against the wall. "I'm so fucking hard I'm about to burst."

Grinding back against him, yanking the blasted material off of his shoulders, Harry tried his hardest not to come in his pants. He could do this a hundred times a day; the feeling of wanting to press and rub into Tom's erection never left his mind. Their lips met. He moaned selfishly against his brother's virile tongue rolling around in his mouth. Groping fingers tangled in once neatly-combed hair.

Legs were parted, lifted up to wrap tightly around hips. Fingers dug into bared skin. Choked, uneven panting pounded into Tom's ears like a symphony of angels. Oh lord how he wanted to tear the remainder of their clothing off and bend the boy over a desk. Harry was so good at giving pleasure but nothing compared to the sounds he made when he was receiving it.

The soft click of the door went unnoticed under the heavy panting against their mouths.

"…do believe I left it in here."

"Well, that would be convenient—ohmygarters!"

Harry gasped loudly, mortified, and buried his head in Tom's shaking-mad chest as light pooled into the room and two tall silhouettes appeared in the doorway.

Albus Dumbledore and Galatea Merrythought drew a collective breath, turned their heads away and blushed furiously at the shocking sight they had just stumbled upon.

Tom sucked on his teeth and nonchalantly set Harry back on the ground. He was livid, trembling with hatred in struggle to buckle his trousers. "Fucking knock or something before you burst into a room."

Harry held his robes together and gathered up his remaining clothes off of the floor when Albus turned back around to speak to them. "Finish dressing and be in my classroom in ten minutes, boys," he said calmly.

"I am so sorry, Professors," Harry confessed, flushing head to toe from a mixture of arousal and humiliation. His chagrin could hardly match the heat of fury boiling Tom's blood pitch black.

"Shut up, Harry," Tom hissed under his breath. "This isn't their business. Don't apologise for anything."

Merrythought shuffled past the boys to grab her peacock-feather hat off of a table in the back of the small room. Her final day as the teacher of Defense against the Dark Arts should have been a memorable one, but as she passed Tom, she stumbled over air and left the room in a rush. Curiously, Professor Dumbledore was certain she had glared in his direction.

"As I said, ten minutes," Albus asserted.

Tom frowned and gripped Harry's arm, pulling him over to the door. "You'd better not tell anyone about this, Dumbledore. This is Harry's and my business. It has nothing to do with you. I'm warning you."

"Tom!" Harry cried, shocked.

Albus stopped by the marble stairs leading to the first floor. "Or what, Tom, you'll alter my memory, too, as you've done Professor Merrythought's?"

Tom smirked wickedly at him. "Right. The Memory Charm was nearly as devious as your conjuring her hat inside there with us when you opened the door,　 _sir_."

"He didn't do that," Harry piped up, looking a lot less apologetic than he had a minute before. "Did he?" He was growing wary of Albus and his strange intentions. He leaned into Tom's side, wrapping a protective arm around him. "We're all we have. We just don't want any trouble, sir."

Albus gave the boy a nod. A few students had filed out of the Great Hall then, disturbing the quiet of the room. He waved to Tom and Harry over his shoulder as he turned to ascend the staircase. "Come with me to my classroom; it's very close."

* * *

"Sit, both of you," Albus instructed, gesturing to the closest desk to his own. He watched the boys' movements as they took their seats, noting their heated expressions and the sense of fear in their body language. The separation anxiety being demonstrated by them tugged ominously at the older man's heart. Nonetheless, he took to his high-backed chair and clasped his hands together on the desk, prepared to get to the meat of this experience.

Neither boy was the exact embodiment of masculinity, but Dumbledore had never dwelled on matters such as sexual orientation. What worried him was the fact that they were brothers, brothers who lived together without any sort of parental supervision. It did not weigh right in his mind. Their upbringing, as he recalled from memory, appeared rustic and unclean. Their mother did not seem entirely stable, and someone in the home had slaughtered a number of owls trying to deliver Tom's letter. He sat on these thoughts, surreptitiously watching the boys huddle and whisper.

"How long has this been going on?"

Tom was plainly the overseer of the two. He had not set his eyes directly on Albus since their arrival. He was stiff and untrusting and it crossed his mind that he may, in fact, attempt to alter his memory of the incident if he allowed his guard down at any point. Tom was an enigma. It was clear now that he studied the Dark Arts and Legilimency. He might possibly know a fair bit of Occlumency, as well.

"That's none of your concern."

Harry, on the other hand, seemed quite nervous yet steadfast toward his older sibling. There was far more going on here than two silly boys experimenting with unrestrained teenaged lust. They were clearly lovers and had probably been so for a number of years.

"An underage boy in the care of his older brother, who is also engaging in sexual relations with him  _is_ my concern, Gaunt."

"Ridiculous. It's not your business what we do." Tom was rock but Harry squirmed a little too much. He had normal control over his emotions, setting a bit of ease in Dumbledore's mind.

"I believe differently, It's not proper, Tom," Dumbledore argued, while he tried his best to disregard how badly the boy's younger sibling was shaking. It tugged at his heartstrings, giving him pause.

Tom gripped the edges of his desk. Anger swelled up within him. Albus Dumbledore was the enemy, he had warned his brother about him more times than he could count. Now, he's separate them over a harmless snog. "You can't separate us. We know all about you and Grindelwald's little affair and we'll tell everyone if you try and keep us apart," he threatened coldly. He cocked a menacingly eyebrow at the man. "I've got proof."

"So, it was you." Albus remained collected in the face of his blackmail peril. He smiled a light smile and leaned closer to the boys. "I would not have taken you for a common thief of private possessions, Tom. And, you, Harry- were you a part of this?"

Harry shook his head curtly. "No, sir. Tom wasn't looking to steal anything from you, he was only curious. And he isn't going to tell anyone about you either. We've got bigger problems than that."

"Shut your mouth," Tom whinged, nudging the boy's ribs. "He doesn't deserve to know! That's our business!"

"No, we should just tell him everything," Harry whispered, but not quietly enough for Dumbledore to miss it. There was urgency in his voice. Something more was going on here than they were letting on. Albus became intrigued to no end. "You told me yourself he was powerful. Maybe he can help us."

Tom scowled at his brother. "I told you to shut up."

"Bigger problems, Harry? Does this have something to do with our bumping into one another outside of the library? You ran off," Albus commented, feeling somewhat worried about the state of the boys' reactions. "Perhaps I can help. I will keep all that is said here to myself."

"I couldn't care less what you say," Tom growled. "I don't trust you."

Harry dropped his head over his folded arms, sighing. They were on their own. The slightest amount of faith Tom had had for anyone evaporated since that strange day three weeks before. The two men that had dragged them into the bowels of the dungeon hadn't even bothered to alter their memories or put them back to bed. It was frightening to think that they were the future. Their future. Harry refused to believe that man was his brother. He wanted to tell but he had promised to believe in Tom because he said he could handle it.

Tom nudged his brother before gripping his wrist to remove him from the classroom. "Let's get out of here. We need to start packing."

"We're not finished yet." Albus straightened up in his chair, prepared to wandlessly lock the door before Tom could drag Harry away. "Sit. There's still the matter of whether or not you are taking advantage of your brother, Tom."

The Head Boy gasped as he turned back to face the teacher. "I'm not taking advantage of anyone! Mind your fucking business, old man!"

Albus remained calm. "I'm inclined to believe otherwise."

"Stop it!" Harry cried, finding himself trapped in his brother's clutches while being judged far too personally by the professor he thought he could trust. Tom was knocked onto his bum through an eruption of raw energy that generated around his brother from all angles. The tension in the room was thick, and had quickly become unbearable to endure. Wild magic pulsed around boy in a callow aura of electric fire. The little tchotchkes littering the professor's desk began to shake. 

Albus blinked in surprise. Having always assumed that Tom was more gifted of the two boys in the art forms of magic, it became clear that Harry was a wielder of an arcane gift that Dumbledore had never thought he'd cross paths with. This sinewy outburst could become deadly if it were allowed to fester and grow. He lowered his head, looking upon the smaller boy over his half-moon spectacles. "Harry, please try and control yourself. Take a deep breath...relax," he whispered, focusing his own power in attempt to counteract or harness any unforeseeable damage the young man might accidentally cause. 

Tom stood up, wrapping his arms around his brother once more to snare this burst of emotional diabolism. "Stop this madness. It's okay, we're leaving now," he spoke to his ear, but his dark eyes were narrowed on the professor. "I promise you; he can't touch us, Harry."

"I'm sorry..." Harry took a great breath to calm himself, having never created such a salvo of magic before. He regained focus, and whimpered as he looked into Dumbledore's eyes. "I didn't mean for that...I'm so sorry."

Dumbledore lowered his defenses. "Are you all right, Harry?"

"He's fine," Tom growled. He grappled Harry up, lifting him up to his toes, prepared to drag him out of the room if he had to.

"Wait!" But Harry shook his head as he struggled to stop him. His damp eyes remained planted of the teacher. He wanted to trust him, he needed him not to separate them. "Professor, please believe me. I swear he's not taking advantage of me. This isn't something he made me do. This is something between us that we don't understand...but it doesn't matter! I love him, and he loves me, and we're all we have! If you keep us apart we'll both die. I can't...I can't think of life without him. Please, professor...I wish I could explain it."

"He has no power, Harry! I'm old enough to keep you, he can't stop us!" Tom hefted Harry back up to his toes and hauled him to the door.

Albus cringed. He knew he should intervene but feared what Harry told him might be true. There was a connection between the boys. He had missed it, but now it was clear. He could hear their thoughts as they scrambled to leave. As calm as Tom appeared, he was terrified of losing the one thing in the world that he truly loved. And he would raze the Earth to keep him at his side. Harry, on the other hand, mentally clung to the older boy like thick tar. His frayed grip on sanity was unraveling faster than he could repair it. One more good scare would sever the remainder. No, the professor could not halt their escape. Nothing good would come from that. Instead, he spoke to the more reasonable of the two, hoping something might stick and when the house of card collapsed the boy would come to him for help. "Harry, if you change your mind, I'll be here—"

"He won't!" Tom muttered, scowling.

As he was pulled from the room, Harry turned to lock eyes with the older man one last time. Instead of being angry, or doing something to stop them from leaving, Albus gave him a sad smile and tipped his head.

* * *

 

The train ride to King's Cross the next day had been unusually unpleasant. Tom hadn't spoken two words to Harry during their final day of school. They ate last their last pudding in the Great Hall together in silence, packed up their belongings in their own rooms and shuffled along toward the train in the crowd of students like a herd of zombies. Scores of classmates congratulated Tom on his success and stuffed notes in his pockets so that he could contact them if he ever needed a thing.

Harry got the pleasure of noting that most of the Death Eaters had been eagle-eyeing him since he left the front doors of the castle. He felt so utterly out of place as he took his seat across from Tom in their compartment, only to be yanked into the seat next to Tom to insure that no other person sat beside him. "You stay there," Tom whispered in an authoritarian tone. 

Nott, Yaxley, and Rookwood shoved in soon after, taking up the opposite side. Harry felt Tom relax into his seat, knowing he would not have to share his personal space with someone he did not love. All the same, Harry sighed. There would be no talking to Tom and there was a distinct possibility of a hexing or two if any of his sycophants started up with him.

"So, what are you going to do about him now that you won't be there to watch him?" Nott asked to break the frigid silence, tossing his head in Harry's direction. "I heard that Ogden and Meadowes had put him on the top of the 'Slytherins Most Wanted' board in the Gryffindor common room. Somebody's in trouble."

"Oh, shut up, beaver-face." Harry yawned with annoyance. "Hagrid tore my name off that bloody thing weeks ago."

"He's not going back," Tom informed them.

The smirks faded. Harry stiffened beside him.

"It's okay." Tom hugged him around the shoulders for comfort. "There's no need for him to finish school now, I'm taking care of us," he added calmly. There was no way in hell he would put Harry back into a place where Dumbledore ruled and Lord Voldemort seemed to be able to enter and leave without detection. They had no one but themselves now to look after them.

Harry felt his heart sink. 

"We'll talk about it later," Tom whispered in his ear. "Is that all right?"

Numb, the younger boy absently nodded. He did understand the reasoning but that didn't make it hurt any less. He would miss the beautiful school and his friend, Hagrid.

* * *

 

_A misty haze filled the small bedroom. Harry whimpered as he cradled his injury._

_"What's happened? Why are you crying, Harry?"_

_Through a gasp of pain, Harry clutched his arm harder. "It hurts!"_

_Or was it his scar?_

_It was his arm that was injured, but it was his scar that throbbed._

_"Again?" Tom was standing over him nibbling on his bottom lip. His friends were waiting for him outside._

_Harry could hear them calling his name through the copse of the trees. "Just go, Tom. I know you want to."_

_Tom defied this. "Harry, talk to me. Why won't you tell me what happened? I won't go if you really don't want me to…"_

" _Just go, Tom, its fine. Have fun with your friends." Everything felt so familiar, but so different. Harry was home. He was eleven years old again and in the house in Little Hangleton. It was dark and cloudy outside, and cold… so very, very cold. But Tom was there. And Tom always warmed things up. But tonight..._ _He wouldn't look at Tom. He stayed huddled up in the corner of the bed, wrapped in a quilt. "I know you have so much research to catch up on."_

" _Harry, I want to put a stop to this madness." Tom's fingers ghosted over the profile of Harry's face, so swollen and bloodied. "Who was it? Please tell me who did this to you."_

" _Who do you think? I can't move my arm," Harry whispered through a whinge of pain, at last looking at him. "But don't tell mummy."_

_"But it might stop if we tell mummy,,,"_

_"Are you thick? Have you forgotten everything we've been through, Tom?" Harry asked him, confused by his brother's questions and comments. It should have been clear who did this and mummy doing nothing to put a stop to it. He looked up, into his eyes...but they weren't dark, as they should have been. They were red._

_"I just think that old bat might step in if you told her..." Tom's features were blurred. He stood from the tiny bed and went to the cupboard to retrieve a few books. "I understand, though. Give me a moment," he soothed, while leafing through a text. He ran a finger down one of the pages and stopped. "I've got a spell here that'll mend it."_

_The voices outside the house faded as the wind picked up and howled through the holes in the roof. Harry looked around the room, at his mummy's empty bed. He could hear bedsprings sagging and groaning in the next bedroom. Morfin was grunting like a stuck pig; primal, louder and harder, in rhythm with each wretched creak. "I wanted mummy to sleep in here tonight - but Morfin got angry when I asked her to."_

_Tom scoffed. "Did he?"_

_The scar, that bloody fucking scar hurt so much. Harry did his best to shove the pain off to the side. "Yeah, laid into me before I could run. He was angry, he said I'd ruined his life."_

" _And you haven't?" Tom looked up from the book, but it wasn't Tom anymore. "You don't think you're the ungrateful little half-blood rogue he always said you were?"_

_Harry strained to see Tom's face. "What?" Tom?_

_Tom had grown. He was as tall as the room, and his face had changed. He was as white as a skull. An unnaturally long finger pointed at him accusingly. "Aren’t you the filthy fucking little bastard he saw you for? We all know the truth. You aren't even a Slytherin. The only reason you're alive right now is because I chose to give you a home, you little brat! I chose your future."_

_Horrified, Harry backed away from the monster as it approached._ " _Who are you?"_

_"What did you do to him? To your brother, Harry. He's not right in the head, he's defying my orders. You've caused this muck up!" The book fell to the floor. "What did you do to change time?"_

_The monster hovered over the bed like a Dementor. There was no escape, and no where to hide. Harry felt his blood freeze in his veins. He became paralyzed with fear, and the only thing he could think of doing was to shut it out of his head and pray this was only a nightmare._ " _Nothing, leave me alone—get out!"_

 _The monster roared._ " _Don't you dare close your mind to me. You tell me what you've done or I will kill everyone you love. Your mother is first!"_

Searing pain erupted from his scar. Blinding white light filled the room. Harry woke with a scream, rigid and covered in sweat.

Tom jumped awake. "Harry—what, what?" he cried, pulling the boy into his arms.

" _You'll be sorry, little rogue…"_

Harry quickly composed himself. There was nothing he or Tom could do to stop the nightmares from happening, outside of stocking up on Dreamless Sleep Draughts. "I'm all right," he said, tucking his trembling hand between his knees. "It's nothing; just another stupid dream."

It was growing excruciating, these awful dreams and the excessive worry that Professor Dumbledore would burst into their home and drag him off to an orphanage. They had only been home for six days. Harry had a little over a month before he turned seventeen, but the wait for something big to happen hung heavy in the air. There was a calm hovering above, a perverted peace that seemed so completely undeserving, and only Harry's invaded dreams gave any indication that a massive storm was brewing.

Tom petted his hair, feeling the tension ease from his muscles. "It's going to be okay. I'm going to find a way to keep us safe," he said in a quivering whisper, worried to all get out. That bastard was attacking his brother's mind so viciously every night. It would only be a matter of time before Harry lost his grip on reality. Something had to be done, Lord Voldemort needed to be stopped. The guilt of knowing that this monster was his future self did not make matters any easier. "I would never do this to you. I would never frighten you like he's doing."

"I know."

It took a lot of courage to admit to Harry that he might be wrong. He could hardly admit it to himself. The fear was so great, wondering how long they would last before someone found out all of their dirty little secrets and lock them both up in Azkaban forever. "Starting tomorrow, I'm going to teach you how to keep those dreams out of your head. And I'll - I'll think about what you said. If that doesn't stop Voldemort's assault I...I'll send a letter off to Dumbledore. Maybe he'll know what to do."

Harry’s eyes brightened. "You mean it?"

Tom's pride shifted to defence. "I said I'll think about it." At one time in his life not too long ago he had dreamed of finding ways to prevent death and use his talents for upping his and Harry's status in the world. He wanted them to rule the planet, to live like kings, to never look back at the little rogues that they once were. Those matters were hardly in his thoughts anymore. Those things were a pittance, to be shrugged away in order to help Harry regain control over his mind. His love and sympathy for the horror his brother was made to endure controlled his objectives. He pulled the boy into his arms, hugging him close. He could feel Harry trembling, and it broke his heart. He kissed the top of his head to ease the suffering in the only way he knew how. "We'll try Occlumency first, okay?"

Harry curled his fingers around Tom's neck, in awe of his strength. "Course."


	13. Happy Birthday

 

July, 1946 

After testing everything, hour upon hour of trials and errors, Draco Malfoy collapsed into his chair in defeat. No amount of evildoing were corrupting either boy. They had peaked. He could not risk wiping their memories anymore, it had been done too many times already. Harry had become forlorn because of this, Tom forgetful. Instead of growing into fearsome leaders they were both in hiding, protected by a Fidelius Charm. Frightened little boys in adult bodies. 

Voldemort was not happy. His smoldering ire burned with each setback. And Draco had suffered for this, more often than not anymore. 

Whatever it was that lit his passion before had been extinguished. He was a shell of a person now. The world was burning. His friends were dead. He had helped do this. Why had he helped? 

There was a creak of a door and Malfoy flinched. His senses were heightened. He looked around the dark room but no one was there. Unconsciously, he gripped the Time-Turner around his neck. His knees knocked and his breath wheezed. He removed the Time-Turner and placed it back in the lock box. He sat at his desk, tapping his fingers on the grainy surface. 

Draco questioned his loyalty to the madman. A man who was clearly not insane when he was a child. A little wicked, perhaps, but sane. Young Tom also had feelings that his master lacked. Draco clawed his fingers in his hair, pulling it hard enough to hurt. 

And then it happened. His eyes, metaphorically speaking, opened for the first time in his life. It was then that he realized that he was the bad guy. He was on the wrong side of history. They were the saviours of this doomed world, as he once thought; he and Voldemort were the villains in this tale. 

But...Harry was the good guy.

_Was._

At least - he could have been.

Unfortunately, Harry was mad. Nothing could change that. 

_Nothing?_

Or could Draco change that before Harry became mad?

_With a Time-Turner anything was possible._

Draco stood up. If he could avoid Tom - and work with Harry instead, maybe he could fix this mess. Maybe he could guide the younger one toward the right path. He would hope it might help the other...but even if it didn't, he would still have a weapon to use against him.

If Tom became Voldemort, they could kill him.

That was a fact. 

And Draco was not alone, despite the times. 

There were others there that would help. Dumbledore and Hagrid were there. They were always insufferably good. Draco smiled, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. A myriad of options flooded his mind. He could do this. He could put the world back together. 

Fuck immortality. 

* * *

There was no apprenticeship to the Ministry of Magic's Department of Mysteries. It was ignored and forgotten. Tom sat in his den, anxiously writing. He rocked slightly in his chair for comfort to ease the trauma he felt. He rubbed sweat from his brow and sighed. “What was that word again?” he asked no one. He smacked his forehead several times trying to restart his deadened brain. A light went on in his head, lifting his frown. “Ha! I'd forgotten the words to the memory extraction spell. How silly.” 

He took a sip from his teacup. But it was empty. He placed it back on its saucer. “Harry?” he shouted behind him. “Can you get me some more tea?”

There was no reply.

Tea seemed very important at that moment. A fuel to keep Tom going. “Hey, Har?” 

After several minutes of shouting, Tom grabbed up his cup and saucer with a grumble. “Well, this is some massive bullshit...I always get you tea, you great bunny.” 

He entered the kitchen of their grey-bricked home. The house was quiet and dim. He shrugged as he put the kettle on, hearing no movement besides his own. “He must not be home. Probably visiting mummy.” he said with a nod. 

Something slithered across the tiled floor and looked up at him. _“Are you talking to me? I didn't understand what you said.”_  

“ _What the hell? Get out,”_ Tom spat, surprised. He turned to face it fully, glowering. _ “How did you get in here?” _ It was a snake. A beautiful serpent: long and smooth with bright green scales. It reminded Tom of Harry's eyes. Definitely not native to their land. He had never seen one like this before. 

The snake ignored Tom's glare. _ “I was a birthday present for Master Harry, sent by package. Just yesterday I arrived.”_ 

“ _Hagrid, no doubt. Where's your master?”_  

“ _Had an errand to run. He said he wouldn't be gone long.”_  

The kettle began to whistle as the water inside bubbled. Tom waited until the sound filled the room before removing it from the fire. Pouring it into his cup, he looked back at the snake to acknowledge it one last time. _ “You stay out of my sight or I'll nail you to the door. Understood?”_ 

The bright snake turned around and left the room, muttering “ _He said you'd say that.”_

* * *

The streets of Richmond were so different from Little Hangleton. The war had been over for more than a year and life was starting to return to normal. Factories were making what they should be making again. Infrastructure was well underway. The town was growing, expanding with paved roads and shoppes lining them. There were celebrations and parades. Everyone felt safe again. 

Well, almost everyone. 

Harry scurried across the busy road, eager to get back inside where it was safe. They only left when they had to. He had a hood pulled up over his head, his arms were crossed and he kept his nose down, as to not attract attention. 

As he approached his home to speak the secret word to enter, he was grabbed up by the neck. 

“Hey, there you are!” Draco flipped him round, pulling him up against him closely. 

Harry growled and dug his fingernails into Draco's sides in return. “Someone please h-” 

Draco cupped the boy's hair and crushed his nose against his shoulder, all the while smiling and shaking his head at curious passers by. “Little brothers, huh? They say the god damnedest things. C'mon, Harry, we're late. Let's go.” Faces turned away without much care as Draco dragged Harry into a nearby alley. 

They were nearly the same size now, it was difficult to overpower the young man anymore. They struggled, stumbling against the brick wall of the alley. 

Harry pushed away, knocking Draco off balance. Both men fought to get their wands free and both pulled them out at the same time to point it at the other. Harry's glasses were missing, broken on the cobblestone ground. It didn't matter. Malfoy's stupid pointy face was haloed by his ridiculously shiny, silver hair. A perfect target to hex. “If you don't bloody leave right now I swear I'll give you horns and a beak. And you know I can do it. I'm better than you.” 

Draco held his hands up, letting is wand slip into his sleeve. “I know you are. I come in peace.” 

Harry sneered. “You're lying, cunt. I don't even need glasses to see that.” 

“Such colourful language,” Draco retorted, briefly forgetting he was supposed to be nice. “You should write greeting cards.” 

“I'm tired of you doing this to us. I should just kill you right now,” Harry threatened. 

Rolling his eyes, Draco retrieved his wand and tossed it to Harry. “I don't doubt you want to, I just know you won't. Anyway, no more scary potions or hexes. I'm here to help you.” 

Harry dropped his arm to his side but held a tight grip on his wand. It took him a moment to compose himself. Anger flooded his veins. He hated this man, maybe more than Dolohov. “Why did you show up today? It's my birthday and I really wanted this to be a good day.” 

Draco felt a twinge of guilt and then it was gone. “Sorry about that. I hadn't realized. Anyway,” he began, praying in his head this was the right thing to do. “I've come to encourage you to reach out to Professor Dumbledore. He is a brilliant man and he can help you.” He pulled a thick manilla envelope out of the back of his jeans and thrust it into Harry's chest. “Do not tell your brother. Not yet. His and my master's minds are a collective. Voldemort will know I'm helping you and kill us all without a second thought. Then he'll just go back in time and start over. Promise me you'll give this to Dumbledore. Promise me.” 

“How many times has he started over already?” Harry whispered, unable to find his voice. The thought of him being killed, of Tom being killed terrified him. He leaned against the wall, feeling faint. “Has he killed us?” 

“No. I don't know, maybe,” Draco said quickly. “I don't even know if it's possible. Time travel has all these- time is- It's like...” he stammered. Time travel was impossible to understand. Every theory on it had been proved wrong. Its rules were unknown to him, to Voldemort. They had no idea what they were doing. 

Seeing the look of pure desperation in Draco's eyes, Harry put an arm over the envelope to hold. “Okay, I won't tell Tom. I'll go to the professor as soon as I can.” 

Draco breathed. “Good. I have to go. You never saw me. I'll be in touch soon.” 

And then he was gone, leaving Harry standing in the warm sun but feeling very cold.

* * *

Glasses repaired, Harry entered the house and quietly slipped the envelope behind the old grandfather clock in the front sitting room. 

“You home?” 

Harry smiled. “Course. Think I'd left you for the milk man?” 

Tom sauntered in and plopped down into a stuffed chair. He looked tired. He seemed to have missed the joke. “No, I was just wondering.” 

“I went to Prewett's and used his owl. I haven't seen ours in days. I'm getting worried.” Harry sat down on the arm of the chair. He looked over his shoulder and the older boy. Tom's black hair had grown into his eyes. “I sent a 'thank you' to Hagrid for the gift.” 

Tom made a noise in his throat and pulled Harry down into his lap. “Your new pet sassed me. Hold still, dirty-blood.” 

Harry wiggled around to get up, giving a weak attempt to escape. He giggled, seeing Tom struggle to hold onto him. “I'm too big to sit in your lap, bastard, I'm going to fall down.” And he did. He landed with a dull thud onto the rug below. He rolled, seeing Tom push off from the chair and fall toward him. He wasn't fast enough, mostly on purpose, and was swept into Tom's sturdy embrace. 

Despite the seriousness of their sheltered lives, it excited Harry to be so close to him. Their parted lips met, their tongues caressed and Harry's worry began to melt away. He felt safe in Tom's arms. Fingers fumbled at his lover's belt buckle. He wanted to please him, to make the sadness go away. 

Tom swatted at Harry's hands. “Knock it off, prat. I'm not in the mood.” 

“This says otherwise,” Harry retorted, tracing his finger along the length of Tom's erection trapped behind his trousers. He let his hand drop. “ _But if you're not in the mood...”_  

“Don't you dare,” he hissed, in that brooding manner that made Harry's blood race. 

Harry was groping and rubbing against him with such vigor that Tom growled and pinned him to the floor. “Aren't we a bit too eager, hmm? Slow down, you maniac. This is all you think about anymore.” 

“I can't help it. And it's my birthday.” 

“It is! Would you like to have your present now?”

“Yes, please.” 

The moment his brother leaned in to kiss him, the room seemed to dim and Harry froze. There was pain. Incredible pain. 

Tom gasped. “What?” 

Harry's hand flew up to his scar. It hurt worse than he ever felt before.

Voldemort was there, outside of their hidden home. “ _Good afternoon, you half-blooded aberration.”_  

Blood leaked from his scar. Tom held out his hand and shouted for his wand. “Hold on!” 

“ _I have a little secret: I have our mother with me. We're going to have a family reunion. If you want to see her alive one last time you'll clean yourself up and hand me that envelope Draco gave you after your brother has gone to bed. Don't say a word to him, I will know. If you don't do exactly as I say I will not hesitate-”_  

The pain stopped and Tom dropped his wand. Harry sat up quickly and vomited on the rug while Tom rubbed his neck. Blood that had seeped into his eyes was washed out by tears. He staggered to get up. 

Tom helped him stand and guided him up the stairs. “What happened? Did he say anything?” 

“No. Just pain.” For whatever reason, Tom believed his lie. Harry dipped his hands into the basin as it began to fill with cool water. He splashed it on his cheeks. He dried his face and took Tom by the hand. “I need to lie down. Do that thing you used to do when we were children?” 

“Course.” 

Tom curled around Harry and smoothed his hair, whispering hopeful promises of the future. Harry pretended to listen. In a few hours he was going to surrender himself to that monster. He would probably never see Tom again.

* * *

Draco felt uneasy as he crept into his office. The room felt stagnant. Far too quiet. He reached out and opened the lock box to return his Time-Turner. The other one was gone. 

“Hey, you're back.” 

Malfoy whirled around to face Harry. “Wha-” 

“What'd you do to him? He was cursing you name before he left,” Harry said, stifling a grin. “Whatever you did, you must teach it to me.” 

Draco's blood drained from his already pale face. “Oh gods, he knows.” 

Harry shrugged. “Knows what?” 

After a moment of frozen shock, Draco grabbed Harry's arm. “You don't understand – we're both going to die soon.” He slung the Time-Turner's chain around both their necks. “I'll explain when we get there. You're going to fucking hate me, but if we can stop this I'll take whatever I've got coming to me.” 

Draco set the dials to arrive before his own self did when he gave Harry the envelope. Voldemort would never know what happened. “Okay, here we go,” he shouted, and set it spinning. 

Nothing happened. 

Harry waited, unsure of what was to come. He stood there watching Draco fumble with the thing on a chain, confused. Draco was trembling, cursing, spitting and crying all at the same time. 

Finally, Draco dropped to his knees as he cradled the shiny bauble in his hands. “He broke it. He must have come to the future and broke it right after I got here. We would have seen him, though.” 

“He was probably under his Invisibility Cloak,” Harry said. “What do you mean “the future”?” 

“He has an Invisibility Cloak?” Draco went limp on the floor. “When did he get that?” 

Harry smirked. He reached out his hand. “I guess we have secrets that you don't know about, too. Get off the ground, you look like an idiot.” 

Draco stood on shaky legs. “You're not taking me seriously.” 

Easing him into his chair, Harry agreed. “No, I'm not. You're not making sense.” 

“He's letting me stew. He knows there's nothing I can do and I'm going to die and my family is going to die and nothing I do now can stop that.” 

Harry clucked in annoyance. This was getting ridiculous. “Are you going to explain this to me?”

Draco let his head drop to his chest. It was over. No sense in telling him now. It would flood into Harry's mind the instant Voldemort began torturing his younger self. Their lives were over. The world was going to end. Everyone was going to die. His vision blurred from hot tears. He waved Harry off, who sneered back at him and stomped away.

* * *

Hours had passed. It was growing dark outside. It was nearly time to go. Harry sighed. He was watching Tom slowly drift off to sleep. Tom looked so innocent in his arms, so peaceful. “I love you,” he whispered against his lover's cheek before kissing him. “And I forgive you for whatever you do. Rest now.” 

“Forgive me for what?” Tom mumbled. 

Harry kissed him again. “I said rest.” 

He eased himself off the bed and slipped out of the room and quietly closed the door. His head ached, making it hard to think. There must be something he could do without alerting his brother. He dressed slowly, lost in thought. He had not felt this afraid since he was a small boy back in Little Hangleton. “Little Hangleton,” he said to himself. “Family reunion. He's going to take me there. Oh gods-” 

“ _Are you talking to me?”_ The new resident of their house poked his head out from under Harry's bed. _“I don't understand what you're saying.”_  

Harry jumped. _“Oh, no I... Yes,”_ he stammered. _“I can't tell him - but I can tell you!”_  

The snake cocked his head. _“What would you like to tell me, master?”_  

“ _Don't ever call me that again.”_ Thinking fast, Harry came up with an idea. There was no way he could tell Tom, at least at that moment, but once Harry was with Voldemort it wouldn't matter if Tom knew. _ “You need to listen carefully. Remember everything I've said. The first part is what you're going to tell Tom when you wake him up. You will tell him the second part only after he is safely inside Hogwarts and standing alone with Albus Dumbledore.”_  

He got up and went to where he had hidden the envelope. The green serpent followed. Harry tore it open and spread the papers inside on the floor. There were scribbled notes, blueprints, something about a Time-Turner. Their childhood lives were written down and debated, stretched and prodded. They'd both been memory wiped over twenty times each. His mind was spinning out of control. None of this made any sense to him and yet it felt so familiar. Harry ground his teeth as he read. 

After twenty minutes or so, his scar began to burn. _“Okay, let's begin. We have to be quick, he's getting angry. Listen and remember,”_ he said firmly to the snake. 

“ _I will remember and do as you ask,”_ he replied as he slithered around Harry's arm and coiled around his neck. _ “I won't let you down.”_ 

Harry petted him. _ “Thank you, my friend. This could be our one chance, we have to get this right.”_ 


	14. Home Sweet Home

Harry spotted Voldemort standing at the end of his walkway the instant he stepped outside. He frowned: Merope was not with him. He walked quickly down the path and shoved a handful of papers into the older man's gut. “Let's go.”

The papers scattered everywhere. Lord Voldemort flicked his cigarette into the street to wave a wandless hand over the mess, collecting them back into a neat pile that landed on his palm. His hand clenched up into a fist, crushing them. “You opened it. I told you not to open it.”

Shaking his head, the young man felt ready for anything. Or so he thought. “No you didn't. You told me not to let Tom see it.”

"What are you talking about? Ridiculous." Voldemort snorted. He rolled the crumpled papers up and tucked them into his waistband before pointing to himself and clucking his tongue as he looked Harry in the eye. "I'm Tom, you great bunny. I'm your brother."

Harry blanched. "No," he whispered, quite unconsciously. "You can't be..."

Lord Voldemort pushed the stabbing pain of rejection he suddenly felt aside. He held out a hand in front of the boy as he forced a grin to appear on his handsome face. “We've no time for bickering about this right now, darling; we need to leave before I, my younger self, realises you're gone. Firstly, give me your wand.”

Harry shrugged. Frightened of the older man, he almost wished he had brought it with him. “I...I umm, left it inside.”

The tiny smile playing on the Dark Lord's lips disappeared. “Go get it.”

Harry shook his head. He did not want to risk stirring Tom awake. “Why? You'll just snap it in two.”

Voldemort smirked. One of his eyebrows arched upward as he watched Harry pale in his presence. He was so angelically beautiful. He looked so much like Tom, Harry had to remind himself that this was the bad guy. He stood so tall and straight, with a grace he could never hope to achieve. Long, delicate fingers twisted his wand in impatience. “True, your wand is inconsequential since you won't be needing it anymore.”

Harry forced himself to breathe again after a jolt of uneasiness swept over him. “Right, nearly forgot you're going to kill me."

"Try not to make that mistake again or I'll make this a night right now so I can get back to my own time," Voldemort replied. He reached out to take Harry's hand. "A time without you meddling into my affairs anymore. Let's get going."

"Wait," Harry managed to say as ice soared through his veins. "Where exactly are we going? What about...where is my mother?”

 _"Our_ mother," the Dark Lord reminded the boy. He flicked his fingers upward, beckoning Harry to take his hand. “She's fine, you'll see her soon enough. Let's go already.”

"But...but, err..." The boy swallowed his fright as best he could, ignoring the gesture. “Did you kill my owl?”

The older man reached out to him in attempt to snatch him. He looked testy, easily losing all patience for this distraction. “I'll tell you when we get there. Give me your hand.”

Harry flinched back. “I loved that owl.”

Voldemort thrust his arm taught. Elegant fingers stretched to their limit to touch the boy. “Your hand, Harry. Give it to me right now.”

"Don't touch me!" Harry recoiled, unwilling to comply.

Lord Voldemort nearly sobbed. Tears welled up in his eyes at the rejection. It was always devastating seeing Harry wince whenever he got too close to him. Once, there was a time when the younger boy welcomed his company, his touch, his attention. These memories flooded into his mind, jarring his senses. It was clear now, sadly, that Harry wanted nothing to do with him any more, just like his older self in the Dark Lord's present time. This burning ire boiled his blood. If his little brother did not want to be with him any more, he would be damned before he would let him ever be with any other. 

" _You don't get it, do you? I own you, baby brother; I am your keeper, your protector, goddammit! You belong to me. But you_ _never listen-you always defy me!"_  he shouted through clenched teeth as he lunged at the boy in frustration. He grabbed onto his brother's shirt at the shoulder, and yanked the material up in his fist. “Don't make me hurt you, Harry! Give me your fucking hand!” His eyes flickered and Harry hesitated. A fresh wave of terror passed through him. He didn't want Voldemort to see how afraid he was. As the last of his courage drained away, he submitted out of fear, lifting his hand up in offering. 

Voldemort snatched it in his, giving it a rough squeeze, and then hugged him against his side. “Let's go home, shall we?”

* * *

“ _Wake up, wake up. Don't nail me to the door, I have a message for you.”_

Tom groaned and stretched and shoved the pretty pest off over the side of the bed. _“I warned you.”_

The tree python slithered under the bed. _“Please listen to me. You must take me to Hogwarts immediately.”_

The fog of sleep clouding Tom's mind dissipated. _“What did you say? Hogwarts? Why?”_ Lazily, he dropped to the floor and stuck his head under the bed, curious as to how and why the little green serpent knew about his former school. _“What's this about?”_ He sat back on his knees when it recoiled in worry, agitated. “Harry, what's this stupid snake on about? He wants me to take him to Hogwarts!”

“ _I don't understand you,”_ the snake said, peeking out from under the bed.

“ _I'm not talking to you, I'm talking to Harry!”_

“ _Oh, He's not here. Take me to Hogwarts immediately. It's a surprise.”_

“ _For me?”_

“ _For him, actually. It's his birthday and he never got his present. Please indulge him.”_

“ _What time is it? It feels late. Everyone's probably in bed.”_ Tom scratched his head. _ “Harry's at Hogwarts? Of all the strange and stupid things he does...” _ He pulled himself up with the bedpost and stumbled over to the wardrobe to get dressed.  _“Birthday present... I'll give him a birthday spanking.”_

The snake fidgeted. _ “Please hurry. I need you to take me to Hogwarts immediately. _”

Tom pulled a shirt over his head. “ _ Shut up. If you say that one more time I'll make a belt out of you. I fucking hate snakes. _”

“ _Belt? I don't understand what that means.”_

With a heaving sigh, Tom laced his shoes and grabbed his wand. He tipped his head to the confused serpent. _ “Do I need to bring anything? Is there anything else you can tell me?” _

He began to coil around Tom's leg. _ “You'll understand when we get there. Pick me up, please. Make us disappear to Hogwarts.” _

“ _If we're going to be intimate you should tell me your name first,”_ Tom joked and draped the snake over his shoulders.

“ _I don't have a name. No one has given me one. We should leave now.”_

“ _Well, then your new name is 'Prat'. Okay, hold on, Prat,”_ Tom said in one breath, grabbed the snake's neck and Apparated them to Hogsmeade.

* * *

Through a cool breeze kissing their skin and standing under the glow of a newly placed lamppost, Lord Voldemort returned his wand to the waistband of his trousers and inhaled the now familiar smells of his stolen past. He carefully adjusted the cuffs of his shirt before smoothing back his hair into place. He looked at the young man standing next to him with a tut. “Are you quite through?”

Harry lurched forward one last time to finish emptying the last of the bile from his stomach. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “I didn't think it was possible to violently Apparate.”

Voldemort grabbed the boy's collar and yanked him up to a standing position. “Let's move, smart mouth. We've got a bit of a walk ahead of us.”

Harry ripped his clothing away from the man's grasp with a scowl. “I know where we are, prick. I grew up here.”

The Dark Lord rolled his eyes as he prodded the boy onward. “So did I.”

Scrunching his nose, Harry vehemently disagreed. “No you didn't. I read your notes; those aren't your memories.” His scar began to burn. He rubbed it unconsciously.

Automobiles and pedestrians occasionally passed. They were witnesses, trouble if Harry decided to bolt or scream for help. Wasting no time, Voldemort ushered the boy forward in his embrace, huffing under his breath at his reluctance to walk faster. “Do I have to force you to walk with me and not make a scene?” he asked the boy under his breath. He had little patience for this obstacle. It was important to get Harry to change as soon as possible, to become his loyal little brother again, to stand beside him despite Draco Malfoy's shocking betrayal that nearly fucked everything up. He would take no more chances of losing the only thing in the world that he still loved, the only person in his life that gave him a reason to not blow the planet into smithereens.

It was clear that this boy hated him; he hated him more in this time than he did in the future, which would surely change the future if he didn't get a lid on this problem. It was killing him to stand by and watch their relationship erode. He scowled when Harry slowed his pace, fixated on getting him back to the House of Gaunt. "Keep moving, Harry. Don't slow down." He needed to get him home, back to mummy so she could fix him like she always did before.

He twisted the boy's arm up behind him when he tried to stall their walk, causing him to squeak out a yelp. He cupped a hand over his mouth to silence him, and whispered, “Don't forget I can read your mind, you little brat. And don't think for a moment I won't hesitate to snuff out every one of these filthy Muggles walking around here if you cause a scene.” He could sense that Harry was contemplating on something. He hugged him around the shoulders and fabricated a smile as an old couple passed them on the walkway. He then put his lips back to Harry's ear. “I'll throw my Invisibility Cloak over you and levitate you the rest of the way like a corpse. Perhaps you'd like to experience what an Unforgivable feels like instead. I could also just as easily throw you over my shoulder and walk you there myself. But most likely I'll kill everyone we encounter the rest of the way if you try to delay this again, and I can't promise you your sweet mummy won't be one of the casualties. Which is it, Harry?”

“Please, don't say that-I'm walking, okay?!” Harry cried in response, horrified by his threats.

“Keep your voice down,” Voldemort warned. He hugged Harry up close to him, relishing in the warmth, ignoring the boy's trembling frame as he told himself that his plan for Harry was the right thing to do. He closed his eyes to probe the younger boy's brain, letting Harry guide them closer to reuniting with their mother. 

They passed two wooden street signs and followed the arrow pointing to the east that said: LITTLE HANGLETON. Harry momentarily imagined that the man beside him was Tom...his Tom, the good Tom. He figured if this madman clutched around him was even remotely decent that perhaps he could salvage this oncoming terror before it was too late. “If we're going home why not just Apparate us there?” he asked the older man, trying to make light of this horrid situation so maybe he wouldn't hurt his mother. If this man was anything like the Tom he grew up with he'd appreciate the attempt at humor. He stopped, looking up at him once Lord Voldemort released him in curio, and threw up a cheeky half-grin as he shrugged his shoulders. “I mean, you know, we could be there already. You could be torturing me by now.”

Voldemort chuckled. “Too many wards up. We don't want our mother escaping, do we?” The brief smile faded as he pulled his wand free of his pocket and tightened his grip on Harry's wrist, certain he'd be forced to drag him the rest of the way once he told him of his true plans in order to make him do his bidding. “Besides, I'm not going to torture you; Morfin is.”

Harry froze solid. He gaped up at the taller man as every last bit of angst was instantly replaced by racing fear. He felt himself take a step backwards. He was going to flee. "Are you serious?" he asked him, but knew without answer that it was the truth. He could see it in the Dark Lord's eyes.

"Yes, deadly serious." A large hand squeezed his wrist with great strength before that could happen. Voldemort jerked him forward to keep walking. “It's going to be amazing to witness all the things he has planned to do to you, _ little runt_. He can't wait to congratulate you for putting him in Azkaban Prison for a murder he didn't commit. He's really impressed with that trick.”

“I didn't do that!” Harry started panting, growing hysterical as the thought of being delivered to his uncle loomed overhead. His heart was bursting to free itself. He began to sob, but tried to hide it as best he could by biting down on his lower lip until the terror eased up enough to allow him to speak. It was inevitable, the tears welled up in his eyes, his chin quivered and he gasped for breath as he tried to back away. He stared at his wrist still trapped inside Lord Voldemort's tight grip while tears trailed in glistening lines down his cheeks. His nightmares had finally come true. All of those ominous warnings were going to happen, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. "I didn't do anything to him! You did that!"

Voldemort looked away, finding it difficult to see his young brother growing panicked. He pulled him onward, yawning in feigned boredom. “True, but I'm not going to let him torture me.” He was practically dragging Harry along side him now. He hardened himself again, forcing back that strange sensation of pity that kept trying to creep into his heart.

The boy was trembling, weeping, so frightened now knowing he was in very big trouble.

The Dark Lord snickered at the boy's inability to control his emotions, feeling triumphant. “Where's that brave little rogue run off to, eh, Harry?”

Harry wouldn't look at him anymore. He dug his heels into the dirt road to slow their descent to hell. _" Fuck you."_

The Dark Lord loomed over him, enveloping Harry in his shadow. The man coiled around the boy's frame to feel his heat resonate against him again as he spoke to him through the linking Horcrux in lascivious fashion. _" Oh yeah, I'll be fucking you tonight, runt, after Morfin's had his way with you. You'll be so weak you won't be able to fight me off...not that you've ever been able to before."_  He sighed, letting his head fall back and loll from shoulder to shoulder as he petted Harry like a cat, stroking his hair and face with the back of his hand to calm his residual trembling. _" But don't fret, my dear. It's going to be okay. You'll learn to love me again, to be the darling creature I created, the thing you're supposed to become: my sweetly angelic, immortal, helpless, completely mad and frightened little runt-of-a-brother who depends on me - his perfect big brother, Tom - for everything. You see, Harry, I told you many times; I truly own you...body and soul."_

Harry paled in horror as his blood turned to icy slush in his veins. It wasn't bad enough to know that Morfin was going to curse the hell out of him, he now knew that this monster would be taking Tom's place as his brother, and that he himself would go insane, to be ruled over by this man, to spend eternity with him as his _thing_. Losing his already-questionable grip on sanity, he felt himself growing faint. He couldn't breathe hard enough to catch it and he couldn't fight back with words any more. Every thing was happening too fast. Tom would never make it in time to stop this. And if he didn't all was lost. He grew lightheaded in Lord Voldemort's arms, unable to do anything to stop this from happening or from fighting to break free from his clutches. His knees began to buckle. "Please, just give me a moment...please," he whimpered, as he dug his bitten fingernails into Voldemort's wrist. "I...can't breathe."

"I'm afraid we don't have time to rest. Keep moving, Harry." The Dark Lord wrapped an arm around the boy's neck to prevent him from running away, finding himself becoming overwhelmed with the grief his brother was causing him through the scar and his struggle to escape. This was an assault on him, Harry was unwittingly causing him terrible physical and mental pain. “This is all your fault, you know. Why couldn't you grow up like you were meant to? Why can't you just be who you're supposed to be? I wouldn't have to treat you like this, Harry! We wouldn't be here right now!”

The boy was a lot feistier than the last time Voldemort dragged him around, his constant defiance frayed his nerves. He gritted his teeth in anger and frustration as he tightened his forearm around Harry's throat, and lifted him up to his toes to put the fear of Mordred into him. He held him there for a hot minute, riding out the fight of Harry's frenzy to breathe, batting scratches and kicking until the boy went limp in his clutches. But before Harry passed out from lack of oxygen Voldemort released him. 

Harry fell to the ground on his hands and knees, coughing, gasping for air as tears drizzled down his cheeks. He knew if he fought back again Tom would murder him.

No, not Tom; Voldemort. Tom would never do that.

"Oh gods, Harry..." Feeling a pang of extraordinary guilt stab his heart like a dagger, Voldemort regretted his actions. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. I lost control." He grimaced as he bent down to help Harry stand up. But Harry seized up in disgust. He clashed with him, hitting the man who looked exactly like his brother in the face as hard as he could before Voldemort subdued him again.

"Stop fighting, Harry! Enough!" Voldemort wrapped his arms around Harry more protectively this time. He pinned the boy's wrists together and held them against his chest to keep him from striking him again. He felt a storm of frazzled emotions crumble the walls of his ice-cold exterior to give him pause over his lack of control. He held onto Harry, kissing the top of his head from guilt once the stars flashing in his eyes dimmed down from the punch-in-the-face. He had never hit Harry before. He never hurt him. Never.

Or had he? .

The Dark Lord cradled the boy to allow him to recover, to catch his breath. He felt terrible about his actions, feeling stolen emotions of guilt over what he had done. His nose had been broken. He swiped at the blood leaking down to his chin and healed himself with a non-verbal spell. He then dropped his head on Harry's shoulder, while he rubbed his arm and whispered into his ear the way their mother did when she comforted them after a good beating from Morfin. “Shh, it's okay, baby, stop crying now...I won't let him hurt you, I'll protect you."

Lord Voldemort paused for a moment, feeling Harry stiffen his muscles over his words...his stolen words. He quickly shook off his fret. He concentrated back on the task at hand. He was not Tom, he was Lord Voldemort. He would never feel pity or remorse. "I meant to say about hitting me, that I'm not upset; I may have deserved it. I didn't mean to lose my control over this, I don't know what came over me."

Harry could not stop himself from crying. He was so frightened, so unsure about what was going to happen next. This man was pretending to be Tom, confusing his rattled mind with the constant personality flip-flopping he was doing. They stood on the walkway in the darkness until Harry calmed down enough to start walking again. Lord Voldemort looked down at the boy as his own mind cleared the fog of Tom Gaunt's memories that were mixing into his own, creating a batter of sludge he'd fallen into. 

"You know I love you, Harry," he whispered, with his chin propped up on the boy's shoulder. "I don't fancy being this person - I don't want to have to threaten you or hurt you in any way. This is the last thing on Earth I thought would happen between us. If you'd just listen to what I tell you I wouldn't have to hurt you." He clutched him harder, desperate to make Harry understand. He pressed his lips to the boy's ear as he fought back the tears that threatened to be shed. He had become overly emotional and had no idea how to handle it, as he had never become this emotional before. "Do you honestly think I enjoy this? I love you, Harry-You're my brother, for fuck's sake!”

"I'm not your brother," Harry whispered in response, "I'm Tom's brother. And he would never hurt me."

"I'm sorry," Voldemort repeated, crippled by intense remourse. He snuggled in closer, as close as he could get. Harry always made things better. He just had to forgive him or he'd die of a broken heart. "...so sorry. I love you so much. Never again."

Standing in the dark with their backs to the wind, Harry inhaled his brother's scent. Lord Voldemort smelled exactly like Tom. He didn't want to stand there any more with this monster trying to convince him that he was Tom. His muscles betrayed him, rendering his legs almost useless. He'd need to save his strength for the inevitable. Voldemort just touching him made him want to vomit again. He put on the calmest facade he could manage and sloughed the man's hands from around him. “I can walk on my own; let go of me. I want to get this over with.”

The Dark Lord nodded. His mind had cleared. He needed to get Harry home and let Morfin do his worst to him so he's beg him to make him stop, to take him back so he could become the man he was supposed to be. Then life would be grand. Then he'd slay Morfin and Merope without a second thought, he'd then wipe Harry's memory of them. And everything would be fine and dandy. Oh yes, life would be grand.

They walked in silence for what seemed forever. Harry's mind raced. Tom would come. Yes, he'd show up in the nick of time and together they would destroy Voldemort and Morfin, and save their mother, and make this world a better place again. Happily ever after.

The heavy brush of the old familiar copse began to take shape in the darkness. The full moon silhouetted the shambles of a place he had hoped he'd never lay eyes on again. His heart sank: Morfin's malformed shape registered before him standing in the road rubbing his hands together like some sinister villain in wait for his victim.

The memories of the crippling pain and constant fear the boy had suffered with as a child surged back into his psyche like a great wave. He gritted his teeth and turned to Voldemort, hysteria rising so fast he could not help but beg. He felt like a helpless little boy again. He was the little rogue he once was, a runt at the mercy of the two wickedest wizards he'd ever known. He threw himself at the man behind him, hugging him around the middle to bury his face in his clothing. He tensed rigid as panic weakened his muscles and clouded his mind, hearing Morfin skipping pebbles on the ground as he lumbered toward him. Lost in delirium, Harry heaved in a deep breath as he looked into the Dark Lord's eyes to beg him for help. “Please-Oh gods, Tom-please don't let him hurt me!”

And as this night had changed the Dark Lord's past from the moment he returned to this time period, a flood of memories of this alternate life assaulted his mental prowess as it brought him back to this date. Within an instant a now-learnt empathy overrode Lord Voldemort's sociopathic persona. He blinked in confusion, frowning at the strange sensation that desperately tried to crinkle his chin. Something painful pinged within his heart, something he could never remember feeling before. He moved to hug the boy against him while he raised his wand, compelled to protect him from this monster.

Harry, frazzled, missed this brief sympathetic gesture. He took several deep breaths and swallowed his fear as he pushed away and turned his back to the Dark Lord, to brace himself before Morfin took his best shot. “I take that back. I don't need you," he mumbled, feeling the Dark Lord move in close behind him. He toughened up, squaring his shoulders as he tried to catch his breath. Feeling the Dark Lord place a hand on him, he recoiled in disgust. "Don't touch me! I got you confused with Tom, is all; I don't need your help!” His eyes locked with his uncle's, so frighteningly deranged. Losing the last of his stamina, his knees gave out.

Voldemort caught him round the waist before he fell. He leaned in as he helped the boy stay standing. "You sure about that?" he asked him, but his scarlet eyes narrowed as his uncle moved into their space and grabbed Harry out of his grasp.

* * *

Honeydukes Sweetshop was more difficult to break into than Tom remembered. He mopped at the sweat forming on his brow and quietly crept through in the dark passage that exited inside Hogwarts. Squeezing past the one-eyed witch, he gave the snake a flick to wake it up. _“We're here, where do we go now?”_

The serpent looked around, trying to remember the precise instructions his master had given him. He directed Tom as best he could and the moment he was sure he was in the right place, he bit the arrogant boy's hand and slithered into a dark corner for safety. Tom couldn't help but yelp from the pain.

“Who's there?” Albus Dumbledore peeked out into the hallway and spotted the former student hissing obscenities under his breath. “Oh, it's you, Tom!”

The boy's jaw dropped open, stunned. “Er...”

Prat began to scream, filling the young man's ears with terrible things. _“Master Harry is in great danger, you must ask the professor to help us!”_ he cried. _“He will die soon! Lord Voldemort has taken him to the House of Gaunt to kill him!”_

“ _What!?”_ Tom went cold. He felt dizzy, weak and faint all at once. He stumbled absently into the old Professor's arms.

Albus pulled him into his quarters. The snake slipped inside just before the door closed. Ignoring the fact that the boy no longer attended the school and had most likely broken in, Dumbledore sat him on the bed. He quickly conjured up a bandage and wrapped it around the boy's bleeding hand. The ex-Prefect and Head Boy was furiously hissing at the offending snake, looking frantic. Never had he seen the boy showing any sort of emotion before, something terrible must have happened. “When you and your companion are finished discussing the matter, please let me know how I can help.”

* * *

Harry screwed his eyes shut and braced himself for pain. Morfin gritted the teeth left in his mouth as he wrenched Harry's head back by yanking back the hair attached to his scalp. _"Been a while, runt,"_ he hissed. _"You still too proud to fight back?"_

"Fuck you both!" Harry screamed through the pain. 

Stricken with horror, Lord Voldemort pulled Harry away. He shoved him behind him and stepped between he and their uncle to shield the boy from the madman. He held his wand pointed it at Morfin, scowling at him like Tom always scowled at him when he got too close to his brother. “What the fuck do you think you're doing? What have I told you about Harry, you old fool? You never touch him!"

The boy standing behind him froze, his breathing stopped with a gasp. The Dark Lord reached back, giving his younger brother a reassuring pat-to-the-arm to ease his worry. He let his fury wane, and he gestured to the  House of Gaunt. His features began to soften, to return devoid of emotion. "Do as I say now; get back inside, go to your room before I cut you down where you stand, uncle. The only reason I have not murdered you yet is because mummy begged me not to.”

Morfin, shocked and confused, stated, “ _But you said I could curse him!_ ”

Lord Voldemort looked down to admire his manicured fingernails, unwilling to give the old man any more of his attention. He shrugged with a tut. “I lied.” He hadn't lied when he said it. It became a lie when he thought to himself that he would never allow that old pervert to touch his beloved Harry. Not now, not ever. Ridiculous. "I'm going to count to three. If you aren't inside by three I'm taking your life. I'll buy mummy a puppy to keep her company."

Harry opened his eyes. He looked up at The Dark Lord, who had turned around once Morfin ran off, and was looking back at him. “What are you doing?” He stood frozen in place, perplexed. “What's going on?”

"What do you mean?" Lord Voldemort gave Harry a puzzled look. He jerked a thumb at the old shack. “Do you honestly think I'd allow that savage to touch you?”

He sounded exactly like Tom. Harry hugged himself, feeling drained, tired and confused about this strange situation. His voice was little more than a whisper, he was afraid if he said anything louder the man would allow Morfin to come back out and finish the job. “But you said you were going to let him torture me.”

“You think I'd let him torture you?" Voldemort stopped to gape at him. “Are you joking?” He reached out to cup his hand to Harry's forehead to see if he'd come down with a fever.

Harry backed away in defense, still hugging himself for a little cold comfort. “Yes, you did. And you said you'd kill mummy and you were gonna make me insane.”

"No, that's not true...I would never..." Voldemort felt as if he might vomit himself, puzzled by these lies. And yet he could plainly see that Harry was speaking the truth. “I would never say that, I would never hurt you. I...It's just that you make me so - he was in...just to scare you. I wanted to scare you. But I don't...” He stepped closer in attempt to take the young man in his embrace. The boy took a step back. He felt his heart break at the rejection from the only person in this world that he truly loved, except also his mother. “Why are you flinching? You know I love you so much, with all of my heart! You know I'd never hurt you, Harry! Please don't be afraid of me!”

“Stop pretending-You're not him!” Harry screamed back at him. His eyes averted, finding himself betrayed by them when he looked at the Dark Lord. He looked exactly like Tom now, down to every minute detail. “I don't even know you-You're the bogyman in my nightmares! You're not him!”

Lord Voldemort paused more a moment, and then nodded. The young man was right; he had gotten confused too. He scrubbed his face with his hands. So many conflicting memories had filled his mind too quickly, mixing with his own, muddling his thinking. “Yes, I see what happened there. I understand.”

Not wanting this disturbing conversation to go on a moment longer, Harry turned to enter the house. “Is my mother really in here?” He reached for the rusty doorknob and turned it.

The man behind him snapped from his reverie with a gasp. “Wait! I forgot to tell you about-”

The door creaked open and in front of him, holding his mother's tiny hand, a man looking exactly like him drew the same startled awe as he had. Having far too much excitement for one evening the vestiges of Harry's stability crumbled to dust and he fell to the dirty floor, unconscious.

* * *

_“...but why did you break him out?”_

_“I'm going to put him back. They won't even miss him. I was angry! You know how I get.”_

_"Nope. Still doesn't make a lick of sense. Try again."_

_"I don't know what you want me to say!"_

_"Try saying you're sorry for starters. Technically, I could and should arrest you for this. Breaking someone out of prison is a very serious offence!"_

_"Oh gods, give me a tiny break for a moment so I can clear my head, you bunny. I can't think straight right now!"_

_“Clear away. Just keep him away from me or I'll kill him myself.”_

_"I'm sorry; I don't know how this happened."_

_“So, you what? You went mad for a moment and wound up freeing Morfin? Fuck, that's sick. What's wrong with you?”_

_"Why is your face all cut up?”_

_"Wha? It's always like this...from work. Gods, you're scaring me. What happened to you? What's going on here?"_

_"Work? You don't work. You've been so sick...you stay in bed all day...right?"_

_"Uhh, no. I work at the same place you work. And I can't even recall the last time I was sick...unless you count those ghastly boils old Grindelwald cursed me with a few years back. C'mon, love, think now. We work at the..."_

_"We what? You and me work together?"_

_"Not exactly; different departments. You really don't remember? Hey, look at me, love. Are you okay?"_

_"No, not really."_

_"Did somebody give you something?"_

_"No...not give. I may have borrowed something...taken, actually."_

_"Taken? Did you use one of the Time-Turners at work to cause this? But you wouldn't do that - you hate them. Or did you? Oh my God, are we in the past? Is that boy in there me - from our past? It seems like I remember this happening a long time ago. It's fuzzy, I can't focus on it."_

_"If I said it was you would you be upset?"_

_"Oh Merlin's beard, what have you done?"_

_"Uhmm, I...I don't feel well. I need time to think."_

_"Why is that sentence you just uttered giving me some serious deja vu?"_

_"Try not to delve into this situation too deeply. Let's take mummy out to dinner."_

_"No, spit it out. Talk to me, Tom! Goddammit, you're scaring me."_

_"No, don't be scared...I just...I don't remember, Harry. Something's gone wrong. I just need a moment to think clearly."_

Harry groaned, hearing loud voices coming from another room. He opened his eyes and looked up, feeling someone smoothing his hair. Even without his glasses the silhouette of his mother was something he reconsigned immediately. “Hey.”

She leaned in and kissed him on his scar. “Are you alright, darling? You took a nasty hit on the head when you fainted.” She handed him his glasses and returned her attention to his hair, humming softly to herself as if nothing strange was happening within the House of Gaunt.

He sat up looking luridly around the room. Not much had changed over the past few years. It was perhaps filthier, if that were possible. It brought back so many memories, good and bad. He had to remind himself that he was a man now and not the frightened little boy who used to hide behind his mother's skirt. The voices from the living area grew quiet. He patted his mother's knee. “Is there somebody else in this house that looks like me?”

Merope peered over her shoulder to face the door. “Yes. I thought it was you until you walked in. Those blasted elves are up to their-”

“Stop it!” Harry snapped, sitting up. He gently moved her aside and stood up. “It's not the elves, I promise. I wish it were.”

As soon as he peeked into the living area Lord Voldemort and the other Harry stopped their brooding and stared at him. There was an awkward pause that stilled the room. Harry lessened his aggressive posture, playing it cool. He had no idea what might happen if he overreacted. “Can someone please explain to me what is going on?” he asked in a small voice as he moved into the room and dropped onto a chair. He rubbed his scar. His head was pounding.

The other Harry was rubbing his scar, too.

“I would also like to know why you woke me up in the middle of the night and brought me here.” The mystery man walked over to Harry and bent down to greet him. He held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

Harry noted close up that this doppelganger was much older than he. He also had several scars on his face and hands, and his hair was definitely less wild. He had at least a stone on him, as well. And, of course to be polite, Harry shook the man's hand. "Umm, hi."

The other Harry winked at the boy and whispered to him. "Don't panic, I'm going to get to the bottom of this." He cupped a hand to the side of his mouth and moved in closer. "I'm thinking someone spiked his pumpkin juice. He's normally a very calm and rational person."

Harry gave his older self a slight nod. "Okay," he whispered in return.

The older man straightened himself up. He turned to face Lord Voldemort without a hint of fear. “Right, let's go over this from the beginning, Tom. I'll start; last night your little apprentice, Draco, started blubbering and rolling around on the floor, for what I originally took as his typical whining, saying you're about to end our lives any minute now, or something close to that. Naturally, I ignored this tantrum and went to bed, seeing as we both know he's completely mad and have tired of listening to his rambling on about some alternate timeline where you are a horrible dictator. You remember?"

"Dictator? Me?" Lord Voldemort cocked his head, both insulted and confused. "I'm no dictator, I'm trying to keep this world...umm, something." He shrugged, looking to Harry for help. "What did he say again?"

"Prat warned me not to go with you; he said something odd was happening with Draco and you. Something about hiding secrets from me. I should have listened to him." Harry held up a hand to silence his brother, seeing him stammer to understand what he was saying. "Please, love, allow me to continue. I think I'm beginning to understand; a few hours ago you woke me up, saying we were coming to visit mummy. Since she lives with us, by the way, I thought maybe you were sleep walking...or high. It's not the first time you've come home from work acting like a loon, so I came with you to see what nonsense you were on about. You weirdly Apparate us here, which I now realise wasn't apparition at all; you used a Time-Turner to bring us here to the past. Now this is where things get fuzzy." He moved in closer to his brother. His eyes narrowed. "I am greeted by mummy...and Morfin; the one person in the world that completely terrifies me in ways I can't have blotted from my mind no matter how many times we've tried to remove it - and you know that.”

"I get it, Harry; you're still pissed off at me." The Dark Lord sighed with exasperation. He slumped against the door in defeat. “I locked him in his room. He can't come out.”

The older Harry gawked back at him. “That makes it better?”

The younger Harry watched the exchange with astonishment. It felt like he was watching a recording of himself and Tom, except this show seemed so much better. He was in awe of himself; he was so confident and brave, speaking to this person who was effectively Tom, but older and pure evil, as if they were equals. 

Lord Voldemort leaned back against the front door, befuddled. Something must have changed in the time he began this notion of kidnapping the younger Harry until that moment. Something had changed in himself. It has also changed in Harry. Harry was nearly the same person as the younger man sitting in the stuffed chair now. He wasn't throwing things at him, nothing had exploded beside him. No, Harry was in control of himself, he was the grown up version of the little rogue he once was. There was no madness seen in his bright green eyes, there was a life that Voldemort had not seen since they were children.

Something was wrong.

He pulled back his sleeve, ripping buttons from silk. *His Dark Mark was gone. His head snapped to his brother, looking at his bare forearm; Harry's was gone, too. With a jolt of icy revelation it hit him: he was no longer Lord Voldemort – he was Tom Gaunt. Draco and he hadn't changed the boys at all; no; they had changed him. He opened his mouth to scream but a new and very powerful memory flooded into him, almost knocking him to the ground. His eyes were wild. His breath caught in his throat. The one wizard in the world that he dearly feared was right outside the door at that very moment  taking down the wards. “Harry, what have you done!?”

The older Harry looked back at him, confused.

The other cringed.

* * *

Watching the old wizard manipulate raw magic enthralled Tom. He had been all wrong about the Transfiguration Professor all along: Albus Dumbledore easily surpassed every accolade he had ever earned. Swirls of brilliant light set the sky afire. Energy crackled around them, bursting and dissolving the intricate wards doming the old shack. He had planned on helping but could not take his eyes off of the agile flow of movement and chant of unknown incantations the old man was performing. Sod Grindelwald, he had just witnessed perfection and nothing would stop him from wanting to learn every single spell this man knew.

Albus smiled at him. “I can teach this to you if you'd like to learn. We can have these wards down in no time.” With a dazed head bob, Tom drew his wand and held it with a grace that Dumbledore instantly admired. The boy was very observant, his understanding of magic much stronger than most. The lights were blinding now, the magics it assaulted fizzled and dissipated. The wards were gone.

Looking at each other they both took a mirthful breath, amazed at the strength of their teamwork. “That was brilliant!”

Dumbledore adjusted his spectacles as he made his way past the overgrown bramble, entering the copse of the House of Gaunt. “Wand at the ready,” he reminded his companion, “we have no idea what's behind that door.” He inhaled a great amount of oxygen, preparing to enter the home when the door opened and Merope smiled, beckoning them inside.

Tom flinched. “Er, is everything alright? Where's Harry?” He waved for the Professor to lower his weapon. “It's okay, this is my mother.”

Stepping over the threshold, Albus tipped his head to her. “A pleasure to finally meet you.” He quickly locked eyes with the person they came to rescue. “Harry, how are you?”

"I'm okay!" Harry shouted as he ran over to Tom, throwing his arms around his neck. “I knew you'd come.”

“Course.” They hugged for what seemed like hours. Merope leaned in to them with baited breath and Tom grabbed her into his arms so he could hug the two people in the world he loved the most. Harry wept with joy, snuggled into the huddle.

On the other side of the room Dumbledore caught a glimpse of two ghosts that seemingly dematerialised before his eyes. After a moment of fuzziness the spot was empty.

“Where is he, Har? Where is Lord Voldemort?” Tom had Harry and his mother shielded behind him as he took his place next to the old wizard. “I'm ready, Professor. I've got your back.”

Dumbledore give him a soft smile and assured him that his wand was no longer needed.

Tom had trusted him enough to allow him to look at his memories of the past events. Albus began to understand what had happened to the two frightened and confused lads. “I cannot be sure, but I do believe that we no longer have to worry about this Dark Lord from the future coming back to ruin your lives. In fact, I'm willing to venture that in just a few moments he will cease to exist and we will not remember him at all.”

Harry and Tom gaped at the professor. “Why is that?”

“Because, Tom, you will never become Lord Voldemort. That person no longer exists.”

Tom stop breathing for a moment. "Are you sure?"

Albus smiled as he cupped Tom's cheek, giving him a small pat for reassurance. "From what I saw, that man had no inkling of what love truly means...but you, both of you," he added, giving Harry's cheek a pat, too. "The two of you have a very clear understanding of what love is, of how powerful this emotion is. Once Lord Voldemort found that in himself there was no turning back. He is gone because he is now you, Tom, and there's no need for two of you to exist."

Harry laughed with a mixture of elation and frenzy, happy to hear that these last few hours would be forever wiped from his mind. “Merlin, that's a relief.” The hysteria died off only when he pointed to the flimsy door, the only thing that separated them from Morfin. “Professor, our uncle is in there, he-”

“Say no more,” Albus said, giving the young man's arm one last pat. “You should take your mother home. Back to Richmond. I will take your uncle to St Mungo's. I believe that is where he can get the help he truly needs.”

“I let Dumbledore see my memories. He knows everything,” Tom said. And then the memories were gone, wiped from his mind forever. Lord Voldemort was no more. He thought and thought but they no longer existed. “What that was, I don't remember but I feel free for the first time in my life. Really free.”

“Oh, before you go,” Dumbledore added, postponing the Disappiration spell a minute longer. He motioned to a rather large crack at the base of the wall in the kitchen, next to the potbellied stove. “It would be best if you reunited your mother with her little elves. These particular ones have dearly missed her.”

* * *

Fall 1956

On the ninth level of the Ministry of Magic, deep within the Department of Mysteries, an Unspeakable dressed in a crisp white lab coat stepped out from the Time Room and closed the door with a _bang_. He detested the place and began jotting down yet another referral to the Minister of Magic reminding him about the terrible dangers and possible disastrous consequences of time travel and why that room needed to be destroyed.

His research always resulted with the same conclusion: time travellers intentions, whether good or bad, could and would change something unintended. Possible results of any persons effected could become un-born. At the very least, his suggestion of placing an Hour-Reversal Charm on every Time-Turner should be considered.

Thankfully, his request to be transferred to the Love chamber had been granted. He would soon begin studying the powerful magic, unlocking its many secrets and its strange hold over-

“Hey, Gaunt, been looking for you!” Augustus Rookwood waved his colleague over. “I was going to ask you if you wanted to have some drinks after work but Harry sent you an owl.”

Tom looked up, smiling. He strode over and clapped the pock-marked man on the shoulder and took the delivered note to read it. He checked his watch. “I know, I'm late. He'll get over it. We're having a gathering on the grounds of Hogwarts before the start of the new term. I thought I sent you an invitation.” He nudged the bashful man along the hall. “Come on, I won't take 'no' for an answer this time. Everyone is going to be there.”

* * *

The half-giant, Rubeus Hagrid, unclasped a line and released a great hippogriff to gallop off and take flight. On its back, Cygnus Black and his young daughter, Bellatrix, clutched the harness and feathers for dear life and screamed with jubilation. Druella Black fretted with worry. She held her infant close, watching the creature disappear into the clouds.

On the side of the hut a rather attractive Auror caught the Unspeakable's attention. The man was pacing back and forth in front of a line of potential applicants; stiff, growling orders, demanding their complete attention.

“Honestly, I may be late but you're still working, bunny.”

“Dismissed.” The young recruits relaxed their postures and quickly blended in with the gathering's inhabitants. The Auror turned to greet his lifelong consort. His pretty face was painted with fading nicks and bruises, healed by magical salve. He had a noticable limp that contrasted with his lovely demeanor. He grinned brightly at the love of his life as his heart always skipped a beat when his eyes landed on him. “Hey you! Oh, hullo, Rookwood. Good of you to finally join us.”

Across the lush grounds he spotted someone out of the corner of his eye. He frowned, watching a man carrying a silver haired toddler in his arms. He was looking shifty, turning his nose up to their gathering of half-bloods, Mudbloods and half giants to join his party of pure-blooded folk over by the Quidditch Pitch. “Abraxas Malfoy,” he whispered, his eyes narrowing. “He's trouble.”

Minerva McGonagall had appeared behind him and clipped the Auror on the cheek. “Working during our party? That's something I'd expect Tom to do.”

“You made it!” Harry replied brightly, shaking the work from his head.

“I live here now, it's official. Oh, Tom,” she said, turning to the handsome man beside her without a hint of contempt, “since I took the position of Tranfigurations, there's still an opening for Defence Against the Dark Arts. I know you're busy but even part time-”

“No, thanks,” Tom said, cutting her off. He put his arms around Harry and hugged him close. “I like where I am. I'd rather keep the darkness at bay.”

He looked out at this group of witches and wizards, spotting his mother, Merope, sitting on a blanket with the new Headmaster of Hogwarts. She had given him a odd looking pair of socks that she knitted for him. He accepted them merrily. With no memory of his past or his once future, the Almost-Dark Lord joined his friends in celebration of nothing more than being together.

The End

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *It is probable that Lord Voldemort did not have the Dark Mark in canon, but I don't believe it's been verified. I could not find anything about that other than a lovely debate as to whether he had one or not. And the concensus was that since he touched Wormtail's mark to alert the Death Eaters that he most likely did not, and probably did not have it before he lost his body since he did not like anything he considered common or beneath him, and having a Dark Mark would make him like them. He would not have wanted to be considered one of them when he was their leader. Who knows, who cares? :)
> 
> Thanks for reading, if you liked it give me kudos!


	15. Original Outline and Many Scenes Cut from Original

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a handful of scenes I had cut from this fic to pass through the plot faster, when I probably shouldn't have on some of them. It should clear up anything confusing in the fic. If not please feel free to ask me.

**After sitting next to my husband while he watched the Super Bowl, I started going through ancient files I saved from my time writing. I have gotten a few reviews about this story and how some parts are quite confusing. I haven’t really read over it in a long while, but going through this story’s saved files I can now see how and where I cut too deeply in the tale that would certainly confuse people. Mainly Tom’s and Harry’s abuse while growing up. Being a child abuse survivor myself, I hesitated putting down in writing the instances of trauma the two boys endured from Morfin, Mr Riddle and the towns folk, as well as from Merope (even if her intentions were only for the best). I cut too much out but being the author I could not see these gaping holes because I know what fills them. I’m going to go through this tale and fill those holes.**

**I also cut out most of the future Voldemort and Harry for some reason, possibly to keep the future a mystery and since their younger selves’ timelines kept shifting each time they hit a paradox it got too confusing having to change the future duo. It made each chapter seem like I was writing about new characters (sort of what I’m going through with Pretty Boy, as they go through dramatic personality shifts as they slowly switch places from hero to dark lord and vice versa). I’ll add a few cut scenes and try to explain them.**

**Also, ohmygod, I found my first draft of this tale in my notes. It’s soooooo different than the finished product. I hardly remember that I originally had Marvolo rescued along wiht Merope so that he was also alive and living with the boys. Yeesh. That somehow they went to modern times (the present day in canon books) and there was another Harry, and he was spoilt and our sweet Harry was now named Wezen, after a puppy he used to pretend to be…wow, I’m so glad I changed all that (most likely my beta/lovely friend and/or good author friend at that time (Caty-Coconutice and Laura-Weasleywench) steered me in a different direction)**

**Not sure whether I should or am prepared to reinsert the additional parts, so I’ll add them as an extra chapter of cut scenes for now, but if I get some extra time in the future maybe I’ll try and incorporate them into the fic for flow.**

**First, the original outline:**

 Woman steps from the shadows and places a time turner in her shirt to hide it. She apparates to a house and enters. She is confused, things have changed. Everything around her is ragged and war-torn. Her colleague inside hardly recognises her. They are historians and scientists, young, working on a theory with a willed time turner (one of its kind, as they are outlawed now) and meddling with time to see if the theory of changing history is possible. They are fascinated by Lord Voldemort, and one has deduced that, from the memoirs of Albus Severus Potter, that Voldemort never bonded with anyone, and therefore became the monster that he was.

 The other thinks that time cannot be changed, and that no matter what circumstances evolve, Voldemort would always become this dark wizard, but with minor changes. Once the woman returns, her theory is seemingly flawed, and her partner was correct. She carries with her the book by ASP and journals and notes on their actions. This time turner is very old, cut to specific times in the past. She has now, going back in time, saving Merope Gaunt from death, created an even more powerful Voldemort, who has an understanding of ancient love magic, and had defeated Harry Potter a few years after his failure to kill the boy and his return.

 Another year of research and avoiding imminent death from watching death eaters, this woman and her partner deduce that more than altering Voldemort’s life would need to happen to change history. Before returning to his time, she sets the time turner back to the day Harry Potter was attacked as a baby, to watch the event unfold. While waiting, she tries to spin the time back to the birth of Voldemort, but the time turner cracks and refuses to spin back any more. The setting for years breaks, but its close enough.

 She moves to the bedroom and picks Harry up to examine him. She’s enthralled, unable to put him down and hardly hears the sirens and shouts. Murder victims have been seen. Special police units are dispatched to the house, to take down the murder. She covers the baby in her cloak and runs on impulse, and is shot in the back by muggle police trying to flee the scene of the crime.

 She activates the time turner, as it is easier to reach with this baby and her wound than a wand. She is mortally wounded, and panics. She apparates to Little Hangelton, knowing she must at least try and right her wrong before death, as she has altered history once more by removing Harry from his time. She puts Harry on the Gaunt’s doorstep and scribbles out a short note in blood, then stumbles away and dies in the wooded area surrounding the home.

 They take Harry before anyone arrives. Without Harry, Voldemort cannot kill him, and this future will not happen, but again, the damage is done. But they cannot kill Harry. On a whim, they decide Harry will go back with them to retrieve the book they left behind.

 Historian sees history being made, after he has changed history. Unable to stop himself, he goes upstairs and finds the baby. He cannot put him down. This is Harry Potter. Police are arriving. He runs with the child, unsure of what might happen, and is shot in the back. He uses the time turner, now cracked and spilling, to return to the last settings he had made. He stumbles along, gravely injured and scribbles out a note and leaves the baby on the Guant’s doorstep. He stumbles away and dies.

* * *

 Start with Merope finding Harry here. She is quirky, jittery, nervous and excited to find this miracle.

 On November first, 1931, Merope is twenty-five, and finds Harry crying on her doorstep in the morning. There is a note written in blood. The baby’s name is Harry, and he is now hers. She is thrilled and terrified, but her son, Tom, calms her down and helps her hide the child from her father. He is completely insane (Marvolo) and on death’s door. There is also a brother, Morfin, who Merope fears may try and kill the baby. Feeble at casting spells, she teaches Tom how to cast a silencing charm on her room to quiet his cries.

 Merope finds the dead man who had saved her from death nearly four years back. She buries him in the garden, and plants tulips, and places little garden gnomes on top to watch over him. She has his journal of the future, and keeps it hidden.

 Marvolo is very abusive to his daughter and grandson. Tom is very bright for his age, acting as a four year old child shouldn’t. He is gifted in charms, unlike his mother. He sees Harry as a bright light in their dim world. He is a secret between he and his mother, and he loves that aspect. He is nearly four, but speaks well enough, and is very fearful of his grandfather and uncle. He adores his mother.

 The charm breaks one evening while Marvolo is threatening the family. The return of Morfin to their home is dreadful. Morfin loathes Tom, threatens Merope, and when they find the baby, they think she’s gone and had another child with Tom Riddle.

 Harry is renamed Wezen by Tom, who makes him act like a puppy, to show how cute puppies are.

 Marvolo dies soon after. Merope has killed him, but covers it up enough. Merope had Harry’s surname set as Gaunt, but is open about finding him on her doorstep. Harry is her miracle. He is the light in her darkness. He is a sweet-faced, pretty child with soft black hair and bright-green eyes. He has a scar on his forehead. Merope changes her surname back to Gaunt, but leaves Tom’s as Riddle, in hopes that someday his father might acknowledge him.

 Life gets slightly better with the death of Marvolo. Their home life brightens; Merope tends well to the children, but is severely mentally ill. A mixture of inbreeding and years of mental abuse have left her mind in shambles. Morfin is no better. He is a dangerous sociopath, and threatens the lives of the children daily. There are glaring hints of incest between him and his sister.

* * *

 As the boys begin their lives together, Tom is clearly the leader. He is very tall, whereas Harry is small and effeminate. Both are thin, pretty-faced boys who adore Merope. She has a job in the village and takes the children with her. The villagers loathe her, and some threaten to have the boys taken away. Tom begins teaching himself magic to prevent this. He is very protective of his mother and Harry. Merope is now a spinster, and pines for Tom Riddle constantly.

 Tom Riddle avoids her and the boys, but at times sends them money as to quell the whispers of the town that his children are not provided for. He marries and moves away. Merope goes into a great depression. Her parenting skills plummet. Tom grows very concerned, as he is starting Hogwarts soon, and fears she will lose Harry if she does not concentrate on her illness.

 In 1938 Tom begins Hogwarts and Albus Dumbledore immediately takes notice of him. He has been forewarned cryptically about Tom and his sway to the dark side, but Tom comes to him, desperate for help. Dumbledore agrees to check up on Merope and Harry from time to time. This sets a change in history. Tom grows trust in Albus, which is very important.

 Grindelwald is a great interest of Tom’s. He is a dark wizard. He finds out he and Dumbledore were once friends. His friendship with Dumbledore grows, as does his trust. Albus looks upon him as a challenge, seeing the darkness inside of him, and the desire to keep his brother safe.

 Sept 1939, World War 2 is upon Britain. The wizarding world has decidedly turned their backs on the mess.

 1940, Harry does not get a letter to Hogwarts. He is distraught. Merope and Tom talk to Dumbledore to fix this, and Harry is enrolled on scholarship to school. He is placed in Slytherin, like Tom, and is small, nerdy, and terribly quiet. Many people dislike him, and Tom must protect him. England is being bombed by Germany, and Merope is desperate to get Harry out.

 Albus’s interest in Harry is piqued. He wonders why he did not get a letter, and watches the child intently. Tom finds the journals of Aralias, and finds out Harry is from the future, and that he was a threat to him, and he’s half-blooded like him. He hides this information, intent on changing this future. He will never love anyone, nor will Harry, except each other.

 Tom is forming alliances with the worst sort of people. Harry worries about him, following him constantly. The other boys do not trust Harry, and physically threaten him often. Tom is special, talented, gifted in a way they are not. He is a natural leader, with ideals they would like to follow. He promises them riches, power, and they fall like rats to a flute.

 Merope’s lust for Tom Riddle grows. She watches him court many women, always flaunting it openly by their home. She watches his house on the hill, the manor with thick, grassy lawns. During the summer of 1941, I DON’T KNOW

 Albus uses legitimacy on Merope and learns of this time-line and future for the wizarding world. He has just defeated Grindelwald, and must prevent this future dark lord from rising. He must send Harry back to his time, separate them and mould Harry as a weapon to defeat the dark lord since he has part of his soul in him. Now Albus will discover Harry’s secret future/past and return him, this will throw Voldemort into a deep depression and obsession to get Harry back.

 There are two Harry’s now, one who grew up with his parents, is a Gryffindor, arrogant and troublesome, a jock, and has no scar - and the past Harry. Lord Voldemort is rising in power with his Death Eaters, and completely obsessed with finding his Harry. The future Harry is highly protected at all times since birth, and Voldemort cannot touch him. Past Harry tells Dumbledore, since he can no longer go by Gaunt that his new surname should be Wezen. That way Voldemort will know who he is and rescue him if he ever hears of him.

 Harry is not issued a wand and cannot attend certain classes. He is to spend the majority of his time with Dumbledore or with future Harry to keep him from contacting Voldemort and to get him to understand that Tom Riddle is no more. Eventually, future Harry takes a great interest in this look-a-like.

 James and Lily Potter have known for a very long time that this Harry would be coming, and have agreed to take him and raise him. This will keep Harry/Wezen protected from Voldemort.

 Voldemort, a dark wizard, but yet not the evil overlord he could have been, is wiser and more powerful than before. He uses stealth and patience. He is handsome, devilish in appearance, and soon learns that his Angel is in Hogwarts being held prisoner by Dumbledore.

 When Voldemort hears of Harry’s appearance, it causes Harry’s scar to burn. This has never happened before, and is the first sign that they truly are connected though the scar and the soul attached to Harry. This worries Albus greatly. Voldemort has killed, and now his soul is torn, and wanting to reconnect to Harry. Albus knows now that Harry is a Horcrux and Voldemort cannot die unless Harry is killed.

 Merope answers the door and is given a bundle. “You again? Though we saw the last of you.”

 Harry refuses to talk to Tom, feeling abandoned by him after what happened. He cries and tells him how Morfin hurt him more than once while he was away, and he won’t go back again. He is happy now, and wants to be a muggle. Tom is angry, bitter; he storms off without any more words. Another week goes by and Harry has grown closer to Tom Sr. They ride their horses past the House of Gaunt and Tom sees them. He hurries to their manor, (he has Morfin’s wand) slaughters the old man and woman, and waits for Harry and Tom Sr. to return.

 Harry takes a nasty fall after the first death, but as he is a wizard, he isn’t hurt as badly as he should be. Tom Sr. rides him back. His scar had burst open and a painful rush of power surged through his being. He is weak, physically ill, and when he returns, Tom immediately overpowers him. He then murders Tom Sr. and carries Harry home.

 As they enter their next year. tom discovers the true destiny of albus and Gellar’s relations. They are gay. This intrigues him like no other, it is possible to carry on such a relationship between wizards without the world knowing. It also confirms that it is not such a bad affliction, these two men are more powerful in their skill than any other to date! Harry is flourishing in his studies, while the other Slytherins resume their torment on him about blocking tom’s true destiny. Tom is now more interested in harry than in finding out more about mastering his art.

* * *

 In the future, Voldemort reigns supreme. There is a small band of rebels, called the order of the phoenix that has thwarted his efforts to continue on by kidnapping the one person on earth he loves: Harry. If Voldemort is struck down, his soul will live on unless Harry is killed. Yet, they know if they kill Harry, the war will cease to be in station, and feral destruction will come to every living soul. Voldemort has kept his part of the bargain as of yet, desperately yearning to learn and understand the power of the ancient Love Magic that can conquer and equalize the wizarding world, but his heart bleeds for Harry’s return, and without this will and strength he knows not, he will slaughter everyone in his wake.

 Voldemort’s goal has little to do with blood status, as Harry has taught him. Blood means nothing, being magical means everything. As his past inches closer to the present, he feels himself strengthening, knowing more and seeing things he could not see before. Love has fixed his cold, lifeless soul, and still cripples him in a new form. He loves Harry more than anything, and it tears him to think that he might die.

 As the odd unknown of time travel barrages him, he realises that the more he goes back into time, the more he learns. His future is running out. Without Harry, there is nothing. He will become what he was destined to be, and he has no desire to become that monster.

**-Yeah, I know, it doesn’t make any sense to me, either.**

* * *

  **Chapter 1 cut scene: This happens between Tom and Harry waiting at the pond for the sun to come up and Morfin finding them. Tom and Harry are sitting together on a large boulder at the edge of the pond. It is covered in frost and both boys fall into the pond and nearly drown. Draco Malfoy appears suddenly to stop this event in time from happening. He then gets to understand the boys’ personalities and conjures up that rope Tom suddenly has in Chapter 2.**

* * *

 Neither he nor Harry heard the loud crack of magic resonate around the pool.

  _“—Levicorpus!—”_

 Harry and Tom were yanked up out of the water and hung suspended limply by their ankles. Harry was barely conscious, but Tom instantly caught sight of the tall man draped in black, standing on the edge of the pond. Taking a step closer, the man smirked at the older boy. “You’re supposed to be a lot more intelligent than this.”

 “Put us down,” Tom cried through clattering teeth.

 “Do you realise that you nearly killed the both of you? I simply cannot allow that, boy.” A flick of the man’s wand dropped both of the children at his feet. Crouching, thrusting a warm blanket into Tom’s hands, the man uncorked a phial and parted Harry’s blue-tinted lips. “Drink this, sweet heart. I promise it won’t hurt you.”

  Tom wrapped himself inside of the wool and perched down beside his brother to snatch him up. The man with flowing white hair stopped him. “Give me a moment, he’ll be fine. This stuff takes the chill right out.”

 “Who are you?” Tom asked him, and pulled Harry into his arms to quiet his wracking coughs. He did not remember their first encounter three years back. He only remembered his mother speaking of a guardian angel who delivered Harry to her from heaven. Could this possibly be the same person?

 The man handed Tom the phial. “Finish it. It burns going down, but you won’t catch cold.”

 Steam was billowing out of Harry’s ears. The young boy clapped his hands over them, giggling and coughing. “It tickles too,” he chirped.

 With a shrug, Tom downed the remainder of it. Instant warmth soared through his veins. His skin felt as if it were roasting over an open flame, melting the icy cold away. He also covered his ears, embarrassed by the nasty side effect. “Make this stop!” he demanded, glaring back at the man. “If you’re so bloody powerful then make this stop right now.”

 “I can’t. It goes away in a few hours, and you’ll stay warm while you wait for your mum to wake up.” Another wave of the wand dried the children’s clothing. Harry hummed lightly in his throat as he leaned up against Tom, feeling toasty warm. “Perhaps we’ll remember to stay off of the slippery rocks during cold weather. This is an important lesson to you, Tom, and you too, Harry,” the man said firmly, gripping Tom’s stubborn chin. “You cannot die. I forbid it. From now on I’ll be watching the two of you very closely.”

 There was something odd about this man that Tom could not put a finger on. Perhaps it was his unusual clothing, so fancy and tailored to fit his form. Tom had never seen anything quite like the robes he wore, or the fine material they were crafted in. The man’s hair was long and white like an old man’s, despite his youthful appearance. No one from the village looked remotely like this person, no matter how wealthy they were. “Are you a Wizard?” Tom asked, cringing at his own words. Of course the man was a Wizard; he had used magic to rescue Harry and he. “I mean…are you an angel? My mum said you were an angel. Do you have wings?”

 Harry gasped, his reverie of enjoying the steam coming out of his ears forgotten at the sound of hearing the word ‘angel’. He looked closer at the man crouched before them with squinted eyes. “Yes, yes I see it, Tom. Are you the angel that gave me to mummy?”

 “I’m not an angel.” Both boys seemed to slump their shoulders at the words. The man inclined his head, almost enjoying this bewilderment he was causing. It would be amusing to see his comrades’ younger selves speak with him with such naivety. “That is… I mean to say that I don’t have wings, but I may very well be an angel. I do kind of look like an angel, don’t I? Who knows, I could be.” There was no harm in indulging the children’s fantasies. On the contrary, it was quite entertaining. He watched as Harry immediately perked up and nudged Tom.

 “Ask him about rope, Tom,” Harry whispered excitedly. “Then we won’t have to ask Morfin.”

 Tom sat stiffly, not trusting this man as of yet. He looked at Harry out of the corner of his eye and shook his head. “I don’t know, Har…he’s so strange.”

 “What do you want to ask me?” the man said, looking slightly smug.

 Harry shrugged. “Could you conger us some rope, angel? We need to make a raft to steer clear of Morfin.”

 “Conjure,” Tom corrected him sharply under his breath. He looked up at the man, sighing. “He’s still a baby. He doesn’t understand magic words yet.”

 “He will in time.” The man stood up and held out the wand. “How much rope will it take to make a proper raft?”

 “Loads,” Tom tried to say as coolly as he could, but gave off a sniffle. “And we’ll need a great pile of sticks.”

 The man cocked an eyebrow. The arrogance in Tom’s words was quite familiar to him. The temptation to thrash the boy’s backside and wipe his memory of it tickled the back of his mind. But no, it was too risky. He could not chance Tom remembering this moment for any reason. Instead, he kept his wits about him, focusing on the smaller, more eager-to-please boy beside him. “There are sticks everywhere, Tom. You and Harry should have no trouble making your own ‘great pile’.” Regardless, he conjured a long coil of rope beside them. “That should be plenty.”

 “You look so silly, Tom,” Harry said through a giggle, watching a steady stream of mist rising out of the older boy’s ears. “Mummy’s going to wonder how we got this way.”

 “Hmm…” The man rubbed his chin after replacing his wand back in his cloak. That was true. Their mother, Merope, would wonder why the boys were obviously bearing side effects from a Pepperup Potion. He had wanted to keep this meeting a secret, to not give her the realisation that she too was being watched. It was important that the boys’ upbringing be kept as it was.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 **This next part was most likely cut in order to progress the plot sooner as I was getting a lot of reviews of impatience for wanting to see Tom and Harry get it on, haha. It was my part in leaving the vestiges of the persona Wezen, the person Harry would pretend to be (which was totally cut out). Since I dropped that storyline I dropped this as to not confuse anyone (too late!). This would take place between chapters two and three**.

* * *

 Chapter 3

Lie, Cheat, and Steal

 Moving around, unable to sit, Draco Malfoy paced away his lethargy to clear his troubled mind. Things were changing before his eyes, things that no one else seemed to notice. He glanced behind him at the sweet-faced man sitting peacefully at his desk with his nose in a book. He looked down at his own hands, revelling once more at the tissue-thin skin covering them. They were the hands of a young man. He dipped one of them into a bowl of black cherries and picked a larger one up by its stem.

 “Can I ask you something?”

 The sudden break in the silence startled Draco. He turned, facing the young man and popped a cherry into his mouth. “Hmm…what?”

 “Well, we’ve got a lot of research to catch up on here, and you’ve been doing that all day.” He pointed at Draco.

 Draco looked around him, confused. “Doing what?”

 “That thing there,” the man said, pointing to him once more. “You’re just pacing around…jabbering to yourself. What’s going on with you?” He shifted around in his chair to watch the silvery-blond’s reaction. Draco had been acting so peculiar lately.

 Again, Draco looked down at his hands. “You remember what I asked you yesterday at tea?”

 “Mhmm.”

 “Which was…”

 “You asked me if Lord Voldemort had always looked like a normal man.”

 “And what was your answer yesterday?”

 The young man shrugged. “I said ‘yes, he looks great to me’.”

 Draco shook his head. “No, you didn’t.

 “Yes, I did.”

 “You don’t remember him looking like…well, less human, do you?”

 Harry pulled his glasses off and snorted. It was a rare thing to see the troubled young man find humour in anything anymore. “Why would he look less than human? What’s gotten into you, Draco?”

 “Because he was a monster! He was…Harry, you don’t remember? Last time I was here…he’s always looked…well, he’s changed.”

 Harry got up and patted the man’s arm. “You’ve gone mad, you poor thing. Let me get you a drink.”

 Draco sighed as he slid back into his chair. Perhaps going back through time had hitched his memories, or maybe he was going mad. “Yeah, I’ll take a double,” he said, and popped another cherry in his mouth.

* * *

 Summer, 1938

 In the four years that Harry and Tom spent together, the angelic man never came, and just as Tom had done, Harry now anticipated going to Hogwarts...

 “It’s running!” The hurried footsteps of small feet pounded along the crooked, narrow path. Gripping the smaller boy’s wrist, Tom pulled Harry through the hedges and landed face-first on the grassy slope. “C’mon, Harry, keep up!” he cried, getting up from all fours and bounding off toward the animal that had invaded their garden fortress.

 A bowlegged mangy dog darted in and out of the trees, staying just out of reach of the children. Harry ran as fast as he could; his coltish legs pumped to stay in stride with the older boy. Faster and deeper they ran, dying to catch the dog. It was so exciting. He had never seen a wild dog before and Tom had promised Harry that if they caught it they could keep it as a pet for his birthday. The sky disappeared as shadowing weaves of branches blocked the overhead sunlight. Nettles and thorns cut through the rags covering his long limbs and razor-sharp rocks stabbed at the soles of his feet, but he ran as fast as he could behind Tom to stay with him.

 “C’mere, doggy!” Tom beckoned, snapping his fingers as he leapt over a fallen tree lying rotting on the floor of the forest. A loud thud boomed behind him and he threw himself into a halt, immediately forgetting the dog. “Harry, you all right?” he called, and retook his steps through the darkness.

 Harry fought to catch the wind that had been knocked from his sail as he sat by the side of the rotten log he’d just tripped over. His knees were skinned. He rubbed them excessively to stop the pain. “I’m okay,” he said in a sigh, letting Tom help him stand. “I fell.”

 “Gods, you’re so clumsy. You need to watch out,” Tom chided.

 Harry knew that he was far less graceful than his older brother and that he always pointed it out. Everyone always pointed out how inferior Harry was to Tom, mostly Morfin, and Morfin hated Tom. He was less graceful, not showing any magical talent at his age, he was not tall or quiet, and his mind did not yearn to learn everything the way Tom’s did. He was well aware that he was inferior, that he was a runt. “I’m sorry, Tom.”

 Tom looked over his shoulder for one more fleeting glimpse of the dog, but it was gone. Gripping Harry by the hand, he pulled him back to the copse where their house stood. “We’ve lost it. I hope you’re happy.”

 Small tears of embarrassment clung to Harry’s dark lashes. He sniffled back the lump constricting his throat. “I’m sorry, Tom,” he muttered again sadly, disappointed in himself for causing such a travesty. An arm slipped over his shoulder. Harry looked up at the tall boy and the tears clinging to his lashes rolled down his cheeks.

 Tom smiled at him. “Stop crying, you big baby, we’ll catch another,” he teased, rubbing Harry’s shoulder.

 Harry shrugged, pretending not to care. He found it quite impossible to do so. “Easy for you to say, that was my birthday present. We’ll probably never see one again.”

 Looking over his shoulder, Tom noticed the distinct zigzagging of grass. The eleven year old stepped closer and crouched, watching it slithering toward them. “Look, Harry, it’s-” A loud smacking sound filled his ears. He stood and turned, seeing Harry holding his hands to his mouth. His eyes were clenched shut, the front of his shirt was splattered with blood, and he hissed a warning to his brother before he was struck too. _“Run, Tom!”_

 Tom threw himself at Harry, knocking him out of the way at the exact moment Morfin dropped out of the tree beside him. They grappled with Harry; Tom had him by the wrists while Morfin took his ankles. “Let him go, you bastard!” Tom screamed, incensed, unwilling to let him drag Harry off into the woods again to beat him half-to-death, then hang him up by an ankle somewhere deep in the woods so that Tom and Merope could spend the night trying to find him before he perished.

 Harry kicked off as hard as he could and gripped Tom’s wrists, anchoring himself to the other boy in desperation. “Let go!”

 _“He’s the one bringing them owls! They want yous in school!”_  Morfin hissed venomously. “ _Bringing owls, bringing letters all week! Stupid boy should be strung from a tree!”_

 “That’s not true!” Harry cried.

 Gawping in confusion, Tom shook his head. “What are you talking about, you loony old fool? What owls?” Morfin released his hold and stepped back, panting for breath. Harry stumbled into Tom’s embrace, again cupping his mouth to slow the bleeding.

  _“School brings the owls! They sent them Muggles out here last year at this time to get you two in school, and now they’re trying owls to get you! I remember papa killing them owls that come when they try to take me to school when I was a lad.”_ His wand was in his hand, wavering. “He’s doing it somehow, the dirty-blood runt.”

 Tom knew something very bad was going to happen. Morfin’s mismatched eyes narrowed and his wand was raised at the ready. “Put the wand down, Uncle…we’ll stop the owls, alright?”

 Slowly, Morfin relaxed, but not before lashing out and striking Harry and Tom both in the face with his fists. He stomped off, leaving Tom to clean up the mess and stop the owls as he promised.

 

* * *

 “You have such stunning eyes, Harry,” Merope said in her sweetest voice. “The brightest of green I’ve ever seen and lashes so thick it’s like God pencilled charcoal around them. You’re my beautiful boy. You’re going to break so many hearts…You and Tom both. My smart boy and my pretty boy. I’ll have so many grand-babies I won’t be able to remember all of their names.”

 Lying side by side on their small bed with their fingers laced together, Harry and Tom listened to their mother coo at them while she tended to the littlest one’s wounds. Merope dipped a rag into a pot of sudsy water, wrung it out, and wiped the tear-streaks off of Harry’s cheeks. “I don’t know anything about puppies. I’ve never had a pet before,” she informed them, looking sad. “I wonder how fun a puppy might be to watch.”

 “It would chase the rabbits away,” Tom added, hoping to pique her interest. “Imagine if Morfin didn’t have to chase rabbits out of the garden.”

 “Maybe he’d be nicer,” Harry injected, and squeezed Tom’s hand.

 Tom sneered and looked away at the wall. The blood that seeped from his fractured nose had dried on his lips and chin. “I doubt it.”

 Merope shifted toward her oldest boy. Her hand darted out to catch his face before he could recoil. She ran the warm cloth over the blood to clean him up. “I’ll think on the puppy. But for now, get some sleep. You’re both going to town with me tomorrow. I think it best, really. Yes, you’ll come with me to work,” she whispered. Er instinct to protect her boys outweighed her fear of Morfin’s retaliation, as it rarely did.

 Harry squealed with glee, but Tom looked much less enthusiastic about it. He had been to town with Merope before, had seen the Muggles’ stares and laughter as they looked at her. “I hate Muggles. I mean, except Harry, if he’s a Muggle.”

 Harry pulled his hand back; shocked that Tom would say such a thing about him. “I’m not a Muggle!”

 “He’s not a Muggle, he’s a Wizard,” Merope promised. She was smiling, with her head tipped to her shoulder while she played with Harry’s messy hair. “He’s very special. He’s my angel’s baby.” 

Tom looked at her thoughtfully, wondering what was going through her scrambled mind. “How do you know that? He’s not done a lick of magic.”

 “I’m not a Muggle!” Harry repeated firmly.

 Merope patted both boys’ knees. “Trust me, I just know. Harry’s going to be a fine, powerful Wizard. You both are. Besides, he’s a Parselmouth, and only very special Wizards are Parselmouths, right?”

 That was true, realised Tom, and he grinned brightly while retaking Harry’s hand. He so hoped that Harry would grow up faster and begin showing some magical talent. The only inkling of his magical-being status had happened during one of Morfin’s frequent attacks. Somehow Harry had set his bird’s nest of hair on fire and the man ran off screaming into the woods. He wasn’t certain Harry had caused it, but Tom prayed that would happen again more often.

 Standing fully, Merope pulled the quilt up and tucked it under the boys’ torsos. “Get some sleep. You two fetch the water for breakfast and washing when you wake, alright?”

 Tom nodded. “Good night, mummy.”

 “Good night, mummy!” Harry chirped.

 Closing the door, Merope put her back to it and let off a deep, heavy sigh. She looked worriedly to the door beside her, Morfin’s door. She clenched her fists and entered the room.

 

* * *

 A single candle flickered in the dark room. The relentless squeak of rusty springs pounded along with Tom’s dull headache. He tugged off his pyjama bottoms and threw them at Harry, hitting the smaller boy in the face. “We don’t have much time, the sun’s rising.”

 Harry crinkled his nose in a sneer and feebly threw the pyjamas back at Tom.

 “Stop bouncing and try it again.”

 “Arf, arf!”

 Tom clucked his tongue. “That’ll do. So what should we call you?”

 Harry shrugged. “Do I have to do this?”

 “Course. Now what would you want your name to be if you were a puppy?”

 Again, Harry shrugged. The nie year old boy with messy black hair hopped in place on the bed. His tattered pyjama bottoms caught every rusty spring protruding out from the frame, and they tore a little more with each bounce. He rubbed the sand from his eyes, trying to adjust them to focus to the rush of morning, but they refused to comply.

 “I’ll name you then,” Tom said indifferently. He fell back against the mattress, lacing his fingers behind his head. He was lean and as pale as porcelain. His jet-black hair fell into his eyes and he blew at it, feeling it tickle his nose. “What was the name of that horse we saw the other day? The one we petted.”

 Harry dropped his head on his fists, and the bouncing abruptly stopped. “Er…Matilda, I think. Or maybe it was Mir... Miranda, I don’t know. The black horse?”

 “Yes, the black one. The only horse we’ve ever petted, you bogie eater,” Tom teased “Hmm, what about Wezen, Harry?”

 “Okay,” Harry mumbled, and climbed off of the bed to get on all fours. “She’s not going to like it. This won’t work.”

 Tom was on his feet, striding to the door. “Of course it’ll work. She as nutters as a fruitcake, just don’t give up.”

 Harry tipped his head as he crawled up behind him. “What’s that mean?”

 Tom rolled his eyes as he stepped into the living room, pulling on the leash tied around Harry’s neck. “I heard that old Muggle crow, Morella Wilcox say it to her few days back. I don’t know what it means. Maybe that she’s mad.”

 “Don’t call mummy names!” Harry growled.

 “Quiet, Wezen, you don’t want to wake Morfin up, do you?” Tom quipped, cocking an eyebrow as he looked down at the boy on the floor. “Now, be a good puppy and wag your tail and pant or something.”

 “I don’t have a tail,” Harry groaned. His nose and whiskers were painted on with charred wood, and two knobby socks hung from each side of his head as floppy ears. He squinted up at Tom, sticking out his tongue. “Should I wag my bum instead?”

 “Whatever, just be ready. I’m going to wake her up,” Tom whispered behind his finger, holding it to his lips to quiet the smaller boy. Harry moved down, flattening his belly and putting his cheek to the floor to look under the door. There was no hint of light on the other side, but he and Tom were certain they had heard voices and moaning coming from the room minutes back.

 Tom turned the knob and pushed. The door creaked as it opened, and a distinct gasp filled his ears. “Mummy, you awake?”

 Merope sat up quickly, pulling a quilt up to her chin to cover her nudity.

  _“Get out, you useless lump!”_ roared Morfin from the dark end of the room.

 Visibly shaken, the woman wrapped herself in the bedding and hurried to the door. “Tom-Tom, go back out. Mummy will be right there.”

 Swallowing hard, craning his neck as he stared at her to see if she was hurt in some way, Tom frowned as he stepped back into the living room and had the door slammed in his face.

 “I told you it won’t work, stupid,” Harry beamed, feeling superior.

 Tom simmered, feeling his face burn with redness. He tugged on the leash, yanking Harry up to his knees. “You can’t even do magic yet, little baby. Another word from you I’ll take you outside and tie your leash to a tree and you can live out there forever.”

 Harry whimpered like a puppy might, and pouted pathetically. His bottom lip jutted out just so, causing Tom to burst into a giggling fit. He bent down and ruffled Harry’s messy hair. “I’m only pulling your leg. C’mon, Wezen, let’s go fetch the water.”

* * *

 Merope dragged herself out of the bedroom, looking more dull and worn than usual. Her misaligned eyes caught sight of the two boys as they moved toward the front door. “What is this?” she called out gleefully. Her features brightened as she scurried toward her children. Dropping to her knees as Harry turned to face her, she grinned toothily at him and petted his hair. “And who is this, Tom? Is this your puppy?”

 Caught off guard, Tom felt a current of jittery enthusiasm pass through his body. “Yes!” he cried. “This is Wezen, my puppy. He’s nearly nine and does loads of tricks. Do you like him, mummy?” It was amazing at how quickly this ploy had worked on the woman. Harry always bewitched her. Throwing himself into the performance, he knelt beside Harry and she, sharing a grin.

 Harry yipped playfully. He was not sure what else puppies did to entertain wizards, and glanced at Tom for a little help. “He gives fantastic kisses, rolls over, plays dead, and can help me fetch the water every morning by keeping all of the monsters outside away!” Tom said, giving Harry a wink.

 Merope tugged at a sock-ear with one hand while scratching Harry’s chin with the other. “He looks hungry! What does Wezen eat?”

 “Oh, I’d think he might like to eat something like old bones and slugs. Puppies like those things.” Tom was wearing a devilish grin, watching Harry squirm out of the corner of his eye. “And maybe dead cats.”

 “I won’t!” Harry cried.

 “Puppies don’t talk!” Tom castigated. “Do they, mummy?”

 “I’ve never met a talking puppy before,” Merope confessed. She stood and crossed to the kitchen, looking over the shelves above the grimy stove against the grey stone wall. Grabbing a ceramic bowl, she set it on the table and turned back to the boys. “We could give him some water if we had any,” she hinted, pointing to the large rope-handed buckets by the door.

 Tom tugged on Harry’s leash. “Grab a bucket, Wezen,” he ordered, lifting one by the handle, but Harry refused to move.

 “Puppies can’t carry buckets,” Harry smirked back.

 Merope waved them out. “Harry’s too small to carry a bucket on his own. You’ll make two trips as you always do.” Then a sound of something stirring rang out from the master bedroom. It sent chills down her spine. “Go, hurry!” she anxiously whispered, fearing Morfin might rise at any given time.

 

* * *

**This next part was to take place instead of Harry’s bumping into Mr Hitchens in town. This part would solidify Harry’s fears of being put into an orphanage that he always whines about. But I didn’t feel comfortable making Mr Riddle so blatantly wicked, I wanted him to be more of a mystery. He’s an asshole not evil, but he’s clever and cunning, and passes this trait onto Tom rather than his magical family as none of them seemed to possess an ounce of either. Also, of course, I wanted him to believe Harry was his son so this whole part of the storyline was scrapped.**

* * *

 Harry stood by the entrance of The Hanging Man, leaning against the wooden shingles of the outer wall. He had completed the task of cleaning mugs and shining mirrors, and jingled the coins in his pocket out of boredom. Merope had asked him to wait on Tom there so they could all meet up together after finishing the chores she normally took on for money. He never minded taking on a job or two for her if it meant he could get her out of this horrible village and return home that much sooner. It seemed Tom had had the same idea, and was on his own excursion to help out elsewhere on the downtown street.

 “Isn’t that one of your boys, Riddle?”

 “Certainly not, those rumours of that common filth being mine are greatly exaggerated.”

 Harry looked up, hearing the name of his supposed father spoken beside him. The instant he centred on the tall, handsome man a snarl curled on his lip. The older woman standing beside Tom Riddle laughed and walked into the pub, but Riddle remained. He stood smirking superiorly at the scrub-of-a-boy.

 “What are you gawking at?” Harry hissed at him.

 Riddle looked around the area very carefully before moving closer and gripping Harry’s arm. “Come with me, boy,” he ordered, jerking him away from the wall. “I want to have a discussion with you.”

 “Don’t touch—” One hand silenced him before he could finish, and the other curled around his waist. Riddle hefted him up, lifting him off the ground.

 Harry found himself dragged off and shoved up into the stone alley wall, blocked from view of the main street.

 The man was angry, massively towering, and held him by the neck to keep him from running off. “Tell me now,” he said in a low tone, looking the boy up and down. Harry pushed his spectacles up to the bridge of his nose, amazed at how similar this man and Tom appeared. “Has your mother done something, some new witchcraft, trickery, to make me forget how you were born?”

 Harry shook his head frantically. “N-no, sir, I was given to my mum by an angel when I was—”

 “Of course,” he cut in, sneering. “We’ve all heard the tale. Do you honestly think anyone believes that another human being with a sound state of mind would hand over a child to that beastly woman?”

 Harry paled, and his heart thumped hard in his throat. “Shut up,” he warned him. He was shaking-mad and wished he had brought Morfin’s knife with him.

 Tom Riddle laced his fingers in the boy’s hair to force his head back against his shoulder. “No…your eyes, your face…you’re different. She’s seduced someone else into giving her a child. How fucking pathetic.” Riddle’s nose was crinkled in disgust as he scanned over Harry. “And your brother, how does he feel about having an ugly whore for a mother, hmm?”

 Keeping his hands on the wall, Harry thought his neck might snap under the extreme pressure. But he had learnt long ago that men only prolong your suffering if you retaliate. He stood there hating himself and this man, but did nothing to stop him.

 A slight smile curled on Riddle’s lips. His hands fell away, releasing Harry. “You’re obedient, at the very least. Tomorrow, you be at the manor on top of the hill, bright and early. I have some things for you to do.”

 “No,” Harry groaned, rubbing his neck.

 “You like your brother, like living with him? I could take that away…And your mother—she needs the work in town, right? I could take all of that away, boy. How would you like to finish growing up in an orphanage? You think I couldn’t have that accomplished? I’m the richest man in town. Everyone believes you’re my son. And your brother, he could join you there…or maybe I’ll just keep him with me. Unlike you he looks like me. He’s tall, handsome, grown…so unlike you.”

  Harry blanched before him. “Don’t do that,” he whispered, feeling the world around him come crashing down. How could someone so wicked look so much like someone so wonderful? “I’ll be there, alright?”

 Riddle clapped Harry on the cheek. “Just tell your mummy you got yourself a nice little holiday job. You’ll be able to bring home loads of money for her to drink herself to death with.”

 

* * *

 Slipping out of bed before anyone else in the house rose, Harry gathered up the pile of clothing he had set in the corner, slung his shoes over his shoulder and sneaked out as quietly as he could. The sun had not yet appeared. He felt his way through the wooded path toward the pond, intent on looking as clean as possible before making the journey up the hill toward the Riddle House. He did not want to embarrass his family any more than the embarrassment they already endured by showing up to the finest manor in the village looking anything less than presentable.

 

* * *

**This next part, again, takes place before Harry goes off to Hogwarts. Having not been born yet in this time-line his name has not yet appeared in the book that would send him an invitation to attend Hogwarts. Tom again finds his mother in bed with her brother but this time catches them in flagrante delicto. Disgusted, he and Harry run away. Merope goes insane, seeing Tom as a kidnapper of her favorite boy and sics Morfin on him so he can bring Harry back.**

* * *

 In the dark, Harry wept openly against his brother’s arm. He was overly emotional, feeling more rejected than he had at not receiving his own Hogwarts letter. It made no sense at all. He could do magic, he was a magical being. Why had he been forgotten? They had remembered Tom; someone from the school had actually come to deliver his letter to him in person when it seemed impossible to do so by owl post.

 Tom pulled a leg up into his chest to rub the welts on the back of his thigh while his tongue darted around over his split top lip. Both were battered and both of them were ill. Finding it hard to breathe. Tom endured a wrack of coughing while he was deep in thought about this conundrum. He peered out of the tiny window above him. The stars glittered like prismatic halos through the greasy, grime-covered window pane. “Do you think that Morfin killed your owls, too?”

 Harry shook his head. “No, there would have been feathers everywhere and someone would have come to deliver it… like they did for you.”

 “Well, we’re going to get to the bottom of this.” Tom dragged Harry off of the bed and walked them to the living area. He was to return to Hogwarts the next morning and had really imagined, up until that very morning, that Harry would be going with him. And there was no way in hell he was leaving Harry alone all summer with Morfin again. They sat outside of the other bedroom quietly, contemplating in their heads on what to do.

 “I think we should ask mummy to write to them. Stop crying now, I’m going to wake her up but I don’t want Morfin to hear you,” Tom whispered behind his finger, holding it to his lips to quiet the smaller boy. Harry moved down, flattening his belly and putting his cheek to the floor to look under the door. There was no hint of light on the other side, but he and Tom were certain they had heard voices and moaning coming from the room minutes back.

 The old grandfather clock by the fireplace began to chime. It was midnight, the eve of Tom’s departure. Looking from it to the door, Tom turned the knob to Morfin’s bedroom door and pushed. It creaked as it opened, and a distinct gasp filled his ears. “Mummy, you awake?”

 Merope sat up quickly, scrambling to push Morfin away from her. “Oh, gods,” she breathed, thoroughly startled. She was naked, and Morfin was on top of her. Tom’s breath hitched. Without thought he knew what they were doing. He had done that once a few months back. He knew exactly why his mother spent almost every night with her brother now.

  _“Shut the door, you little pig!_ ” roared Morfin.

 Visibly shaken, the woman wrapped herself in the bedding and hurried to the door. “Tom, go back out. Mummy’s sleeping.”

 Swallowing hard, craning his neck as he stared at her to see if she was hurt in some way, Tom frowned as he stepped back into the living room and had the door slammed in his face.

 Harry wiped away a dollop of mucous dripping dangerously close to his top lip. He sat up on his knees, watching Tom seething in place. “What’s the matter?” he asked him, alarmed. Only a moment ago Tom was calm and rational, but now it looked like he could crush the world under his heel if he wanted to.

 The clamour inside of Morfin’s bedroom grew violent. Things were hitting the walls. There was shouting and loud wails of distress resonated through the door. It was only a matter of time before Morfin came out and finished what he had started that morning. The large, bleeding welts covering the children’s backs and thighs had yet to scab over. Their eyes were black, their cheeks hollowed. Tom knew that Harry could not take another switch mark to his backside. He was so close to breaking, so frightened and traumatised as it was. He could see the poor child flinching through every bang.

 “Get dressed, Harry. Gather up whatever you can, and all of the money you’ve saved,” Tom whispered, helping the boy up to his feet. They moved quickly into their room, pulling everything out of the wardrobe and tossing it into a pile on the floor. Tom unlatched his school trunk and began filling it up. “Faster! Shoes on, Har,” he hissed, hearing the wood of the other door creaking under the weight of their mother as she blocked it with her back.

 Dressed and packed, Tom shrunk his trunk down to a tiny size and put it into his trouser pocket. He stashed his wand and gripped Harry’s hand. “Is that everything? I can’t use magic once we leave…I don’t want to get expelled and we both need a place to stay.”

 “I think so.” Harry looked so frightened and confused. He was numbly gazing around the living room as they passed through, and flinched again when something shattered against the wall behind them.

 “Where are we going, Tom?”

 Tom yanked the front door open and stepped out into the copse. “Don’t follow us, woman, I’m warning you.”

* * *

 On the dirt road en route to Greater Hangelton, walking briskly alongside Tom, Harry tried his hardest to ignore the waking nightmare closing in on them. Tom pressed on, telling him to ignore everything. They had a direction, a small amount of money and a stone-set determination to find out why Harry had not gotten an invitation to Hogwarts. Thankfully, there was a girl from school living in midst of the large town, and her fireplace was connected to the Floo Network. Tom had used it at the start of the summer holiday, and was hoping her family might allow them to use it once more to get to London.

 This plan was not obstacle free, by any means. The boys were being actively perused by their mother and uncle in the most frightening of ways. Merope was running down the road and screaming like a banshee in Parseltongue, ordering Morfin to bring the smallest one back to her, and Morfin was firing off random curses in all directions as he closed the distance between them. Harry was so edgy about disobeying his mother, but promptly followed his brother as he darted off toward the woods. Tom had never abandoned him before. Tom knew everything; he would keep them safe.

 “I’m taking him with me, old man — we won’t be back!” shouted Tom as they ducked into the shelter of the trees. He dropped to the ground, pulling Harry down beside him t o catch their pained breath. “Just stay as quiet as you can, okay?”

 Harry gripped Tom’s hand and held in a bout of coughing as Morfin passed by. The matted-haired monster kicked at the grasses and shot a spell at a tree to catch it on fire before trudging on to another area, missing both boys completely. But Merope was close, calling out to Harry in a sweetly deranged voice. His scar was prickling so badly. He rubbed it for a while until Tom grabbed his hand to stop him from rustling the bush they were hiding behind.

 “Give me back my boy! He doesn’t belong at that school, Tom! He needs to stay with his mummy! _Give me my boy!_ ” Both Tom and Harry flinched. The nearly indistinguishable sounds of Parseltongue usually went unnoticed whenever Morfin spoke it but when Merope spoke it, as she only did at her darkest times, it’s distinct hiss called to both of them, compelling them to answer.

 It should have taken under two hours to reach Greater Hangelton, but now this chase would more than likely carry on throughout the night if they could not get away. Tom knew this, and with Harry being so young and both of them so sick, they would quickly run out of the energy they needed to continue - continue _if_ they did not get caught.

 Merope was standing on the edge of the road still wrapped up in a quilt. She was so close; Tom could almost feel her hot breath cascading over him. Harry whimpered. He was in obvious pain, again touching the scar on his forehead to quell the prickling while he coughed up choking phlegm into Tom’s shirt.

  _“He’s here!”_

 Tom gulped. Merope had spotted them and reached out into the brush to take one of Harry’s arms. He yanked his brother backward with him and turned to run but was knocked down along with Harry as Morfin slammed into them with all of his body weight. Harry was ripped from him and dragged off back to the House of Gaunt by his mother, but Morfin was standing over him with his wand drawn. He was snickering down at him. “No where to run now, you dirty-blooded lump.” He kicked out, connecting with Tom’s side, and again at his face, the last thing he remembered.

 

* * *

When he awoke, Tom found himself lying on his back with his head propped up on Harry’s lap. Harry was caressing his bruised face and sniffling. They were back inside their bedroom.

 “She’s locked us in and said she’s never letting us out again.”

 “She can’t do that. I’ll miss the Star-of-the-Year-feast. You’ll miss the Sorting Ceremony.” Tom sat up and peered out of the tiny window above him. "Why doesn't she want us to go? She seemed very excited when I went off on my first year, and even second…I don’t understand why she doesn’t want us to go back.”

 Harry shook his head. “What are we going to do?”

 With a heated breath, Tom had sat in place for as long as he could. “We're going to get out of here.” He gruellingly dragged himself to the door. Testing the knob, he found that it was still magically locked. The window had been sealed up as well, making it impossible to escape. “Open this bloody door, goddammit! You have no right keeping us locked up!”

 A small voice on the other side broke through the quiet in the living room. “You’re not going. You can say as many little vulgarities as you want, Tom, but keep in mind that I’m adding them up in my head as you say them.”

 “Add them up, I don’t care!” Tom dared to bang his fist against the old wood, gaining himself a painful shock. “It’s not fair! We’re hungry, we’re bleeding, we’re sick and we’re cold…Open the door, mummy! Don’t do this!”

 Merope stood shaking in place, something had badly spooked her. “No, you’re not going and that’s that. Harry’s name wasn’t in the magical book. I got an owl from the school saying someone went and paid his tuition to get him in. They want to keep him from me — they want to take him as their own — they want to take my boys away from me. I can’t let you go. Tom, go to sleep, I can’t deal with this right now…”

 “She can’t keep us locked up forever,” Harry whispered. “Didn’t you say that there was a Wizarding family in Greater Hangelton with one of those magical fireplaces connected to the Floo Network?”

 Absently, Tom nodded, and kicked at the door, gaining another jolt. “Yeah, some bird in my Muggle Studies class. Her dad let me use it at the start of the holiday to come home, why?”

 Harry pulled Tom away from the door to stop him from hurting himself. “Mummy will fall asleep soon, Morfin’s already out…The magic on the door will wear off eventually, and we can make a run for it.”

 Tom sighed. “But tomorrow’s the first day. You’ll miss the Sorting Ceremony!”

 “I’m going to miss it anyway,” Harry flatly informed him. “Even if it lasts until the morning, she has work in town tomorrow. No one will be home all day. It will wear off like it always does, Tom. Let’s get some sleep, I don’t feel so good.”

 Tom felt Harry’ forehead, seeing him shivering in the darkness. He was burning up with fever.

 “So are you, Tom,” Harry told him. “Let’s go to sleep, alright?”

 Their best hope was to wait out the magical barrier and run away while the adults were not watching. He gave the boy a push toward the bed and climbed in next to him. “You sound like me now. When did you grow up?”

 Harry scrubbed the remnants of tears off of his cheeks. He hissed as his fingers grazed against a deep, rising welt on the side of his face. “Just now, I guess. It only seems right that we don’t panic; she’s not going to give in.” Both Harry and Tom had been worked over before being tossed inside of their room and locked within. Even if they had done nothing wrong, it made no difference to Morfin. All that he knew was that Merope was crying, and when Merope cried – Morfin got upset - and when he got upset – someone got hurt.

 

* * *

 “Get up, boys, we’ve got to move.”

 The bedroom door was open. Tom opened one eye to see who was standing in the frame. It appeared to be an angel a handsome, whitish-haired man moved to the side of the bed and took each one of the boys’ hands to lift them up.

 Tom pulled his hand back. “What’s going on? Who are you?” Draco retook his hand, grasping it with more emphasis.

 “He’s the angel who mummy talks about…” Harry whispered, staring at the man with quizzical admiration. He blushed, feeling foolish having said that out loud. “I mean… never mind, that’s silly.”

 “Oh, you two, always flattering me with the angel comments. You sound like my grandchildren.” Draco glanced down at the boy with a smirk. “Right, well, if you two wouldn’t mind following me over to the sitting room.” He yanked Tom forcefully along with him while Harry followed closely behind. “There’s a portkey set up across outside of here to take us to Knockturn Alley. If you haven’t used one before, it’s quite si—”

 “I’ve used one,” Tom snapped, sneering at him. He grabbed Harry’s hand and pulled him outside with him. He watched Draco point down at the garden gnome sitting innocently beside their fort. He watched the man open his mouth to instruct them but Tom held Harry’s hand out with his so that they could touch it together. “On three, yeah, we know.”

 “Not Harry, he stays with me,” Draco replied, then bent down to wrap his arms around the smaller boy. “Once you land, there’s a flat above Borgin and Burkes. Enter the shop and tell them Mr Malfoy has sent you to use their furnace. Then use the Floo Network to get to the Head of Slytherins office.”

 Harry tested the strength of the white-haired man’s grip on him.

 Tom looked pained. He reached out to take his brother back. “I’m not going without him. Why can’t he come with?”

 “He needs books and supplies…and a Pepperup Potion, it seems,” he murmured, noting the boy’s sudden bought of coughing.

 Tom fell into a trance-like state. “Pepperup Potion, you say…” A pang of deja vu captivated him. He remembered something about the potion and a white-haired man in the past. “Have we met?”

 “Enough! You’re going to miss your first day, Tom.” Tom was shoved down at the portkey. Draco poised the tip of his wand to Harry’s throat. “Touch it,” he said, looking bored. “It’s quite simple.”

 Tom hesitated. “Do you promise he’s been enrolled? I’m not leaving him—”

 “Do I look like a man who doesn’t get what he wants?” Draco boasted, cutting the boy’s words off.

 Tom looked into Harry’s pleading eyes. “But he’s scared.”

 “He’ll get over it,” said Draco, flatly. “I’ll deliver him when we’re finished. This’ll take time. If you hadn’t run off I wouldn’t have had to come searching for you! This time-line is certainly more unstable than we perceived. You should have been at home, asleep, with your little arm tucked around your little brother…What made you run off?”

 The thought of curling up into a foetal ball and dying seemed easier to deal with than the idea of telling this stranger why they ran off. Tom shrugged, kissed Harry’s cheek and bent down to touch the portkey.

 Harry’s head fell to his chest. Draco quickly righted it. He stood with the boy still pressed up against him while he played with his wild hair, deep in thought. “I don’t agree with this living arrangement for you boys. Personally, I feel like it’s harming you more than making you stronger.” His hand dropped to Harry’s trembling shoulder. He clapped it a few times. This boy was a friend, a person he highly regarded in his time-line. If Harry knew that his brother kept them in this living-nightmare on purpose…who knows what he might do.

* * *

**This is from chapter 5. This scene was censored by me before I posted this story up to Ao3. I also made Tom a lot less wicked in the Ao3 version. He’s far more lecherous toward Harry in the FF.Net version and his descent to darkness grows rather than recedes. At the time I wrote it it didn’t bother me. I was this age or younger when I became sexually active, and it was pretty common with my circle of friends. Hell, my best friend had had an abortion and was pregnant again at the time I let someone get to third base (I was the late bloomer). Now that I have children my thoughts on this has drastically changed. Certainly I don’t want either of my children dry humping someone else at this age. I left this chapter intact on FF.Net because the tale was and still is somewhat popular there and I don’t want to upset anyone by cutting it all up. It’s bad enough I threw up that horrible ending I posted up that probably infuriated a lot of them. Anyway, if you are opposed to underage frottage, please skip past this.**

* * *

 The relentless summer heat and threats of air bombings had kept Tom at home more often than he liked. All of London was preparing for the threat of another Blitz. It did, however, put him to the test of all boundaries of his will. Fortunately, he had discovered a way to work up a resistance to these disastrous wants and desires for Harry by simply taking care of the issue whenever it popped into his mind.

 With a Silencing Charm in place over the bedroom and the door closed tight, Tom leaned back into his pillow and sighed with content. His hand moved slowly down the path of his bare chest, the tips of his fingers trailing lightly across the taut skin. He slid them under the elastic of his pants. They grazed along the length of his arousal before claiming it fully. His heart beat rapidly under his ribcage as the soft pads moved, stroking the silky hardness to its rhythm. Fuck, it felt so good to let go give Morfin a taste of his own medicine. And then Harry… God, he was so gorgeous, so fucking right for him. If only things could be different.

 “I am Lord Voldemort,” he whispered through the silence, simpering at the iniquity of his earlier actions. He loved the way it sounded coming from his own lips. It was only a shame he had to keep the facade of the perfect student at Hogwarts. Taking the surname of his father and combining it with his first and middle, he had come up with what he thought was a brilliant new title.

 Riddle. That bastard Muggle would pay for his crimes later for flaunting himself around in front of his poor, maddened mother day by day with his wealth and disgust for her. He was not worthy of breath. He and Harry would see to that when the boy came of age.

 The thoughts that plagued him now enhanced the euphoria of his actions. Images of the pretty little boy flickered in his mind. His breath was shallow, his eyes closed. The vision; messy hair, golden skin glistening with sweat, the brightest of green eyes under the thick brush of onyx lashes… His dainty hands and shapely toes, the dip of his navel, and contour of his blushing-pink nipples… The upturn of his nose, his pillowy lips, the soft line of his jaw… So beautiful, so right for him…

 The door to the bedroom had opened, missing his notice.

  _~“Harry…”~_

  _~“Yes?”~_

 Tom sucked in a great breath and pulled his knees up while tucking his hands behind his back. “Christ, Harry, what are you doing home so early? You should knock before entering closed doors!”

 “What’s wrong, did I scare you?” Closing the door behind him, Harry plucked away at the buttons of his shirt. With each peel of his tattered clothes his skin became more exposed to Tom’s vision, feeding his appetite for completion. “I need to lie down; I fell off a horse this afternoon. Mordred but it hurts like nothing other.” He dropped onto the mattress to nuzzle with his older brother. “Why are you in bed so early… or home for that matter? I thought you weren’t going to be home much anymore.”

 All of the blood drained from Tom’s face and pooled back into his groin. Harry was far too close to him. “Er… shops closed up early. There was a curfew put in place, there was an air raid warning or something.”

 Rubbing the ghastly bruise on his thigh, Harry draped his long leg across Tom’s bent knee for leverage. He was rubbing it, touching it, poking at it with a finger, massaging the muscle in such a way… “How bad does it look? The muscle will seize up tonight, you wait. I’ll wake up screaming.”

 “Okay, enough—geroff,” Tom groaned, unable to take his eyes off of the shapely limb dangling over his knee. The skin was so golden, stretched taut over the firm muscle basked in moonlight. He shoved the leg off, exhaling heavily. “Where’ve you been all day?”

 With a huff, Harry rolled over onto Tom and pinned him to the bed. “At work, idiot, where do you think I fell off a horse from?”

 “I told you to get off,” Tom said in a panicked warning, fearing Harry could feel his still rock-hard member trapped between them.

 Harry slapped his hands away and gripped his wrists, pinning them over his head. “No, make me,” he taunted, grinning from ear to ear. He dug his knees into the bedding, locking them at Tom’s sides. “Ooh…It’s too late to hide what you were doing now, I felt it. Who are you thinking of?”

  _Oh, please no…_ Tom attempted to will his arousal away. But feeling Harry this close and watching his little pink tongue play along his lip only made it worse. “I’m not thinking of anyone. You know damn well it happens to all men. There have been plenty of times when I’ve caught you with—”

 “Oh, so you’re a man now. Ha! Is it Walburga? Gods, please tell me it’s not her. She only fancies you because you’re a Prefect. Maybe it’s that girl with the glasses…I’ll bet you like them smart and near-sighted… Or—Minerva! Ah, yeah, I’ll bet it’s her.” Harry was closing the distance between their faces as he leaned in and pressed his forehead against Tom’s. He was rocking over him, looking fractious; addling the friction and focus that Tom had fought so hard against. He was teasing him on purpose. It was clear now that Harry was jealous. _Jealous!_ “Whoever they are, don’t let them take you away from me like those blokes at school do. I don’t think I could stand—”

 “No.” Tom turned the tables, forcing Harry onto his back. Kneeling between his thighs, Tom overpowered him quickly. He took his slender wrists in one hand, shoving them over his head. _~“No one will ever come between us, Harry—you’re mine.”_ ~

 Harry gasped at the shift in power, finding himself in the exact position he had his brother seconds before. He was quite out of breath and staring into Tom’s eyes with wonder. Before he could think of what to do or say, Tom’s nose was touching his. His eyelids fluttered closed and his lips parted in a sigh. Yes, he wanted Tom to kiss him.

 There was no turning back, no stopping himself now. Tom pressed his lips against Harry’s. Their soft tongues touched; timidly, at first, then scraped along the other with stringent need. Harry’s chin tipped up, offering his lips and his tongue to the older boy’s demands. He felt the hard press of arousal against his thigh as Tom cupped him at the nape of his neck to bring him closer. A light moan passed between them as little jolts of pleasure struck at his nerves. It felt so good to gain so much attention from Tom after nearly dying for it for so long. Whatever Tom wanted, he could take it.

 Tom was lost in the moment, rocking against Harry for more friction. This was the most wonderful feeling in the world! It felt so good, and the smaller boy fit perfectly in his arms. Nothing could stop this fire burning from within his insistent loins. Harry’s arms had slipped around his neck while his sweet tongue and pliant lips arrested every screaming thought of how wrong this act really was. Tom was going to come right then and there in his breeches, rutting against Harry’s thigh like a dog in heat - but he didn’t care. He needed this; he wanted this more than anything else in the fucking world because it felt so bloody right to hold Harry and taste him and rub his body against his with everything that he had.

 And Harry was moving against him, garnering his own destiny for divinity underneath him. He made the most lusting of sounds under each primal rut; breathy and light with cloudy, uneasy delicacy. His tongue slipped back into his mouth to inhale a deeper breath. Tom felt the warmth spread between their breeches. He had just made Harry come for him, in his arms, against him, without words. It was so precious and wrong, so deliciously wrong to taste upon the flesh of this innocent and take what was rightfully his to have before anyone else could dare. Tom wanted him more than anything; more than immortality, more than power. This <i>was</i> power. Reclaiming Harry’s perfect mouth, he thrust his tongue back inside and found heavenly bliss rupture between them while his seed pooled warm in his breeches.

 Tom froze inside, his own mind swirling with obscurity. It was over – as soon as it had begun; it was over. The beautiful boy, still limp in his arms, nibbled at his lower lip with confusion. He had just gotten off with his brother, something he told himself he would never allow to happen. What had he done?

 A flush of guilt and horror flooded out from deep within. “No… I didn’t. Fuck,” he breathed, dropping Harry onto the mattress to look upon the hands that had held the boy so closely moments before. He sucked in a great breath; unsure of what had just happened to make him lose his strong focus, knowing he had caused this, knowing he had lost control. He slammed his fist against the wall. He wanted to tear his own eyes out. “I’m so… I’m so sorry, Harry. I didn’t mean for that…”

 Harry was glowing red with embarrassment. He covered his eyes with the balls of his hands to block out the vision of his angry brother. “Its okay, Tom, really,” he whispered back urgently. Why was Tom so irate? What they had done was so exhilarating…“It was just an accident. Please don’t be angry anymore.”

 “No, it’s not okay, baby. I didn’t mean it.” Having grabbed his wand off of the night table, Tom waved it over him and Harry to clean them off. He sat it on the windowsill and fell onto his side with his back to his brother. “If anyone found out…no one can ever know,” he murmured under his breath. “It’s not acceptable. We can’t tell anyone.”

 Harry curled around him, draping that ever-so-long leg over his hip and an arm about his chest. He tucked his chin in the crook of Tom’s neck and sighed. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise.” He brushed his lips against his earlobe, something he had always done to soften the other boy up, but Tom stiffened against him.

 “Just go to sleep, Harry. Forget it happened.”

 With a nod, Harry closed his eyes, letting the tears that burned beneath his eyelids spill forth at another rejection, something he could never get used to.

 

* * *

**This part in chapter 7 on Ao3 had Harry initiating the next sexual encounter but that’s not the way it originally was. The reason Harry had been avoiding Tom was his growing lust for Harry is that of a horny teen while Harry hasn’t exactly reached that peak yet. It’s aggressive, Tom tries to persuade Harry to fool around with him and leaves to do it with someone else when Harry refuses. I didn’t like it when I reread it, so I changed it.**

* * *

Shucking off his cleats and robes and letting them fall lazily to the floor, Harry plunged into Tom’s bed to remove the remainder of his uniform. He plucked each sock off and tossed them over the side, then moved to the zip of his Quidditch breeches. Shimmying out of them as Tom entered the dormitory; Harry grinned brightly, balled up the breeches, and threw them in brother’s face. “You’re really acting funny anymore, idiot,” he chimed, and slid his fingers down the length of his shirt, popping the buttons away. “You reported Olive for running in the halls when you let Marius do the same thing this afternoon. And what was that ridiculous fear tactic you tried on Minerva, hmm? Real classy, Tom… She said you were a right prat – and I’ve never heard her call anyone a name before. Whatever, I’m knackered. She’s a tyrant on the pitch.”

Tom, having folded Harry’s breeches and his own robes as neatly as possible, rested them over the bedstead. He undressed smartly; taking his sweet old time with each article of clothing, balling his socks just right and making sure the pleats of his trousers matched the other. His shoes were placed under the bed by the foot in perfect alignment, and he pulled back the sheets to fold them over properly before climbing into bed. Any anger he had before had vanished. All he wanted to do was be next to the one person in the world that he cared about.

 Harry had closed his eyes by this time, mocking loud snores while the weight of Tom shifted over beside him. The curtains fell closed, darkening the interior of the bed.

 “I put a nifty little Silencing Charm on the curtains that’ll activate whenever I climb in to sleep so I don’t have to keep reapplying it. I invented it myself just this afternoon. Go ahead, give a scream, see if anyone comes,” Tom boasted, giving Harry’s ribs a nudge.

 “’s not the smartest thing you’ve ever done,” Harry replied shortly, still lying in simulated sleep. “What if you get hurt in here? Who’ll hear you calling?”

 Tom snorted. “Ah, yeah, I’m so clumsy in bed. I might get injured.”

 “You will if you don’t shut up and let me kip out,” Harry warned.

 “It’s also impossible to peek in,” Tom continued, as he shifted onto his side and traced the line of Harry’s jaw with a finger. “No one will have a clue as to what we’re doing.”

 Harry groaned pathetically under Tom’s vanquish, feeling the warmth of arousal wholly pervade his skin. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Tom touching him again – he did, badly – God, he loved it when Tom took control and gave him such unbroken attention – but that familiar jolt of insecurity moved through his arms and made him push back against Tom’s shoulders as the older boy began climbing on top of him. Anymore, it seemed, Tom refused to keep himself in check when it came to Harry and Harry’s sweet little body. Whenever they were alone, when no one was looking even for a second; the fondling, groping, tongue-sucking-into-his-mouth, and earlobe nibbling would get underway.

 Feeling hot breath cascading along the line of his neck, Harry shivered without control. He shouldn’t have come here, he knew this would happen. His voice wavered with timidity. “What are you doing?”

 "Shh, I’m trying to kiss you,” Tom replied in a confident, husky voice, and removed Harry’s hands to place them at his sides. He smiled that beautiful, perfect smile of his as he leaned in again and pressed his lips over Harry’s chin. “I missed seeing you today, and you slept in your dormitory last night. I’m inclined to believe you may be avoiding me.”

  _He was_. Harry turned his head to the side as Tom eased over his body, trapping the smaller boy beneath. “Course I’m not,” Harry stammered, as he wriggled around to get comfortable. A silly smirk flirted with his lips. “I’ve been busy, you’ve been busy. I didn’t want to bother you.”

 “What bother? Don’t be stupid.” Tom clipped him lightly on the cheek to right his head. “Now shut up and kiss me.”

 Their limbs became a tangled mess as the urge to copulate so kindly took over all rational thought. Harry’s right thigh was sandwiched between Tom’s legs, the other rested on top. They rocked against the other, rolling onto their sides to find a more pressuring way to gain the most gratification, and with their tongues twisting and sliding around between their lips, both boys began to fall to the passion.

 Oh, and it was good. No, the primordial act of frottage alone was more than good, but the need to move forward and want it all pulled so strongly on Tom’s libido. It seemed an endless struggle between them. Harry was more interested in Quidditch and misbehaviour than exploring the wonders of sexual stimulation. It hadn’t deterred Tom - in fact, it was a conquest. The challenge was there to best the best, to see how far he could get. He had slept with over half of the Slytherin girls over the age of sixteen… and a few of the boys, but they were pittance; practice for perfection.

 Tom wanted Harry in the worst way. The pretty boy stirred the dead, cold, stagnant emotion deep within his endlessly seeking mind. He supposed he could take what he wanted; tie Harry to the bed and ravage him in every way possible. It had crossed his mind more than once… but that would take the fun out of it and destroy the trust. And Tom needed Harry’s trust. No, he would not part with that over a cheap grope. Still, he had to try and whittle him down. Sadly, it would take time.

 “Guess what I found out this afternoon.”

  “What?” Harry whispered back; not fully trusting the Silencing Charm. He slapped Tom’s hand away from his backside, giggling nervously in the process. “Well?”

 Curling into him to lean on an elbow and loom just so over Harry, Tom hummed seductively in his throat. “Upon discovery of that journal, I learnt that,” – he kissed him once on the corner of his lip – “the all powerful Grindelwald, my personal hero, is a,” – and again on the other – “right old fairy,” – and pressed his lips upon Harry’s before he could respond. Fingers slid along the other’s sides, legs bent, and their groins pressed into the other.

 Harry sighed, tipping his head back and digging his nails into Tom’s lower back. “That’s lovely, really.”

 Tom snickered wickedly. “Now guess who he was buggering.”

 “I don’t care about Grindelwald or who he was buggering,” Harry growled.

 “Ah-ah, guess,” Tom repeated, holding up a warning finger.

 With a heated sigh, Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t… no… no way. You’re joking, Tom. Don’t say it!” he exclaimed, finding it hard not to giggle once more at the thought of who Tom was bursting to shout. He pressed his hands over his ears just as the name was yelled.

 “Dumbledore!”

 Harry winced dramatically, clutching his chest as if he’d been shot. “No! I told you not to tell me!”

 “It’s true!”

 “Gods, that’s just… yech!”

 “Imagine that,” Tom continued, in a lesser enthusiastic and more sensual tone, “two of the most powerful living wizards—queer together. And they’ve kept it secret all this time.”

 The giggles died off as Harry began to understand what his brother was saying. If Dumbledore and Grindelwald could keep their relationship secret, could truly be themselves and still remain the most feared and adored wizards of their time, then so could they. “Tom,” he whispered through an unsteady breath, reluctantly allowing the larger boy to wiggle his way between his thighs. Nothing else was said; Tom pulled him into his arms, lifting him off of the bed at the nape of his neck to press their trembling lips together once more. Harry pushed up on his elbows, so afraid his muscles were too shaky to hold him up.

 The progression, slow and steady, heated them both through. Needing more, Tom took the boy’s hand in mid thrust against his thigh to gently coax it between their torsos. Harry pulled it back in staunch resistance. “No, Tom…”

  _“Shh…”_ Tom’s other hand was slipping down the length of his brother’s side, fingertips easing under the elastic of Harry’s pants and moving closer to cleft of his bum. Harry tried to dislodge it, but Tom grabbed him again and placed his palm dangerously close to their erections.

 “Merlin, will you stop?” Harry snapped, pulling his hand away and pressing it flat against Tom’s chest. His back stiffened and his legs clenched and pinned Tom’s to halt their movement.

 “C’mon, Harry,” Tom wheedled, retaking his right wrist, “just touch it.”

 “No,” Harry said flatly, looking shocked. His ears were burning hot with embarrassment. “I told you I don’t want to yet. I’m not ready.”

 “Oh, fuck, Harry, please?”

 Harry shook his head. “No!”

 “But it feels so good, I swear. I won’t ask you to do anything else. You can touch it for just a second, over my pants even. C’mon, please?”

 “Tom,” Harry whinged, wishing he had again gone straight to his own dormitory. “I don’t want to do that yet.”

  _Bull-headed prig!_

 Tom huffed and fell back against the mattress, and punched the bedstead for added drama. “Fuck it,” he stung, and stared angrily up at the canopy, “If you’re not going do anything else, I’ll just work it off with someone who wants to.”

 “What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry was glaring at him now, with his arms tightly crossed over his chest.

 “Just what I said, don’t worry on it,” Tom retorted and rolled over onto his side.

* * *

**So, anything between chapter 7 and chapter 10 is basically unchanged. I did, at one point in the beginning, have Grindelwald as the true villain and Voldemort, in accordance to his changing looks, turning less evil over time but it just didn't work in the long run. I started Voldemort out as the villain and he needed to be so until the end. Also, I had Doholov’s first name right here. I have no idea how I mangled it throughout the remainder of the fic.**

**I honestly cannot remember why I cut out so many future parts unless it was making things too muddled. Anyway, here is two cut scenes. First from my first draft, the second in the near final draft when Voldemort and Draco take Harry and Tom deeper into the dungeon, instead I had them take Tom and Harry to another location where Snape was perfecting the Elixir of Life in order to feed it to them to stop their ageing. Voldemort was a lot less professional to the boys in this version.**

 

* * *

Chapter 10

 October 2006

 In the blustery weather, watching the dark clouds overhead rush over the blue skies, several men dressed in black robes surrounded a tall, handsome man. His cloak whipped about erratically, emulating the vapid thoughts bounding through his head. He was in wait for the Order of the Phoenix; one of three factions in rule of the Wizarding World. They would be arriving shortly, and engage in their first meeting of the called ceasefire between them.

 Hearing the booming crack of Apparition shatter the cold silence, Lord Voldemort pulled his wand free and waved it in an arc over his head. A band of thick magic flowed outward from the tip and spread, encasing the twelve men in a shimming dome. Again and again the crackling of magic filled the air. They were surrounded suddenly, although this was expected. Albus Dumbledore and his people had arrived.

 “Tom, how are you?” The voice made him wince; that kind, gentlemanly drawl that had taunted him so many times before, tore at his every nerve. Dumbledore now stood before him with a quizzical arch to his brow, prodding the magical field protecting Voldemort and the Death Eaters. “Ingenious. You’ve incorporated conjured metals into the shield, thus, I assume, giving it greater strength. I see no need for it, however. I promised you there would be no violence.”

 “As far as I can throw you, Albus,” Voldemort replied. “My time grows short, as you must know, and my temperament wanes. I want him back. I want what is mine.”

 “I do not have him,” Albus stated pointedly. Several members of the Order of the Phoenix, standing behind their leader, raised their voices in frustration. Holding up a hand to silence them, Albus lowered his eyes and voice. “But you have called us here not for this reason.”

  Lord Voldemort stared petulantly ahead, ignoring the others. “I am willing to discuss options in exchange for your assistance. That monster you created…you, Albus. And if he hurts him, if he even harms one single hair on his head, I swear to you I will raze this land without remorse.”

 Albus knew this to be a truth. “Without remorse…I do not find that so hard to believe. Your mask is slipping, Tom. No one here believes your promises of hope any longer. If you so dearly want your brother back, why not use your precious Time-Turner and fix this yourself?”

 “How quaint, you know my little secret. So I have a Time-Turner that allows great distances in time travel…so what?” Tom said with disdain. “How long have you known this?”

 “I suspected something odd about you and your family on the day I met you, Tom. It was confirmed the day you enrolled Harry into Hogwarts,” Albus said, smiling.

 “Me?” Voldemort spoke, feigning surprise. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 Dumbledore laughed. “Would you deny that it was you, and not Tom Riddle, who showed up that early morning on September first, nineteen hundred-forty, enrolling a small boy into Hogwarts? A small boy who did not receive his letter because his name was never written…a boy who did not technically exist, Tom.”

 Antonin Dolohov grasped his leader’s robes, shaking his head. “I would advise you not to answer that, sir.”

 “Headmaster Dippet had no problems with this, why should you?” Again, Dolohov shook his head adamantly. Lord Voldemort ignored him.

 “Yes, yes, poor Headmaster Dippet. You did seem to have an easy time getting him to see your way, didn’t you? Unfortunately, I am not easily swayed by Memory Charms or false documents. Harry Gaunt was not of that time. We both know this. I admit, at that point I had no reason not to believe your lies. The boy could have easily been born in another land, as you stated, and I was not the headmaster. My investigation did not begin until much later.”

 Lord Voldemort’s blood began to boil. “Yes, an investigation that led to Grindelwald’s discovery of the time altering events. This thing was necessary. I should not be the one under interrogation here; I am not the bad guy…not anymore.”

 “Are you saying that before you brought Harry into your life that you were the bad guy?”

 “Yes,” Voldemort confirmed, nodding.

 Dolohov and Malfoy began to twitch. “Sir, please reconsider going any further with this conversation. As your attorneys we feel that anything-”

 “I just want to get it out, Lucius,” Voldemort interrupted. He looked back at Albus, defeated. “You told me you would help me once. I’m asking for that now. You know as well as I do that Harry’s innocent. He’s being used to bring us both down and we need to stop it, to stop him.”

 Albus turned, facing his people. His eyes locked onto Sirius Black’s. Sirius nodded and lowered his head. “Well then, tell me, Tom,” he began, turning back to the shielded Death Eaters. “Did you murder James and Lily Potter?”

 Lord Voldemort hesitated for a second.

 “Don’t say a word,” Dolohov warned him.

 “I did.”

 “And did you steal their only son, Harry, and take him back in time?”

 “Yes.”

 “And are you willing to pay for these crimes?”

 The crowd behind Voldemort gasped and hissed. Several men lunged at the man to stop him from answering the question. Isolating himself with a separate shield, the Minister of the Wizarding World lowered himself on a knee and agreed to his former Professor’s terms. “I am willing, yes.”

* * *

**cutscene**

 His moment had come. The occasion he was promised, worked so damned hard to achieve, had finally arrived. Draco Malfoy stooped over the Potion Master’s desk in awe, watching his former professor and current comrade in arms manipulating the liquid properties of the Elixir of Life.

 Severus Snape kept his beetle-black eyes set on his work. His mind was a tight ball of a machine, churning to every precise calculation in order to achieve the masterpiece he laboured on. His stringy-black hair hung in his eyes, moving to and fro as he read over the ingredients lining the surface of the desk. A cauldron bubbled at his side; its mercury vapours creating a soothing ambiance around them.

 “It’s nearly ready,” he murmured, taking a moment to step back and wipe his brow with a handkerchief. He focused on the man standing by the door, propped against the frame with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. “And you’re absolutely certain that this is the age in which you wish to administer it to this one, my Lord?”

 The man pushed away from the door and walked casually over to the boy standing on the opposite side of the room guarding his unconscious brother. Gripping him by the chin, Lord Voldemort yanked Tom’s head up to look him over better. “Oh, yes, quite sure,” he replied, jerking the boy’s face from one side to the other. “It’s all down hill after eighteen, isn’t it?”

 Draco snickered. Snape tipped his head. Tom found no humour in any of this. Embarrassing as it was to be inspected like a piece of meat by someone claiming to be his elder self, he held a fiery glare upon Voldemort for as long as he could. “Let go,” he hissed. “It hurts – let go!”

 Releasing him, Lord Voldemort lost his smirk. “My two most loyal,” he said, turning to face Snape and Malfoy, “You are the reason we have come this far. I give you both the gift of everlasting life. Please, indulge.”

 “Basically speaking,” Draco said slyly, “you’d like one of us to ingest it before you do.”

 “Exactly,” said Voldemort. “Drink it.”

 And only after both Malfoy and Snape downed their phials and felt time stop all around them, encasing both forever in that moment in time, did Voldemort offer the priceless nectar to his younger self. “Your turn.”

 When Tom puffed his chest out and refused Voldemort moved him aside to gaze upon the object of his desire lying on the sofa behind him. “We can do this another way, boy. Maybe I’ll have Harry drink it, even before he’s turned eighteen. And honestly, I have no idea what it might do to a person who has not yet grown up.” Without looking away, he ordered Draco to keep Tom in check. He knelt down beside the sofa, awed at how soft and sweet his brother’s face looked while he was sleeping, a memory that instantly filled his head as if it were his own.

 “Shh,” Draco whispered in Tom’s ear while his wand tip poked the boy under the chin. “We don’t want to interfere and upset him, do we? We don’t know what it might cause him to do.”

 The Dark Lord lifted the young boy off the sofa and dropped down on the cushions, pulling Harry into his lap. He rested the boy’s chin on his shoulder so that he could not fully see his face and wrapped his arms around him in a hug as he removed the spell that kept him unconscious. Giving Tom a smirk, Lord Voldemort nuzzled up to Harry’s cheek as he woke. “You alright, baby?”

 Harry sobbed and curled up into the Dark Lord’s lap. “Is it over?”

 “For now.” His lips grazed Harry’s cheek. He felt his loins stir. Again, his dark eyes glanced up at his younger self. Tom was burgeoning to scream. With a simple gesture Voldemort told Malfoy to silence him so that he could play as Tom for just a little longer. “It’s okay, baby, I have you now. You’re safe right here with me. I would never hurt you.” He took Harry by the chin and kissed him. He shivered when the boy melted in his embrace.

 

* * *

**Okay, now this last part is chapter 13, but not the chapter posted up in this story. I had lost this, put it in a a file that was labelled something else. I wrote it three times and then forgot about it completely after I walked away from writing fan fiction in 2007. I sort of wish I had found it before I finished this tale but I can’t quite finger where I was going. My last outline is missing, too, and try as I may I can’t find it. The only outline I found basically said “Voldemort does not turn Tom into him, Tom turns Voldemort into Tom.” Ah well, serves me right for not finishing it.**

* * *

Chapter 13

For Sorrow is like Dreams

 He sat in quiet, his dark eyes flashing here and there to visually mark every curious noise. The dark bedroom brimmed with house-settling groans, arousing his sluggish senses. Something had woken him, yet Harry remained tucked safely in slumber under his arm. There was no room for misjudging what might happen. His brother’s dreams were ever prophetic horrors. He woke up screaming in pain and fear night after night. The message was clear; something was coming for them.

 God, Harry was so brave. He always played it off as nothing, keeping the wretched details to himself. As long as Tom promised he could keep them safe, that this big plan he had to get them out of this mess could actually work, then Harry would relax. For a time. It wouldn’t be long before something spooked him. Something always spooked him. The nightmares would return and the shadows would play tricks with his poor vision. Every sound, any movement set him off to jump from his skin.

 Tom heard it again, an eerily familiar sound that perked his ears and raised the hairs on the nape of his neck. Footsteps. He sat upright in bed to rub the sleep from his eyes. He glanced down at the sleeping boy one last time and gripped his wand, ready to face the unknown.

 Slinking to the spiral staircase like a serpent, Tom moved with magnificent grace toward the ground floor. His wand was at his hip, his eyes scanning the darkness for the noisemaker. In the back of the house, a strip of light glowed under the door leading to the kitchen. He could see the shadow of someone moving around within its confines, and the sound of pots and pans clanking rang into the air. He snorted, shoved his wand into his pants and stepped off onto the floorboards to make his way to the intruder.

 “What are you doing? It’s three in the morning,” he informed her. His hand absently moved to his forehead to rub the reoccurring headache away.

 His mother turned on her heel in surprise. Her exaggerated smile did nothing to lessen the dull throb in Tom’s temples. “Morning, Angel. How’s my big boy?”

 “Don’t call me that,” he said coolly. He hated that she was back. He was not sure how long he could allow this to continue before he lost it. Goddamn Harry and his constant worrying!

 She was preparing something, most likely a potion. Merope had always been an avid alchemist in their youth, dealing predominantly with elixirs that centred on emotions. He did not trust her one iota. “What are you doing? Look at me, tell me, Mother.”

 “Mummy, dear…” she said softly, setting a sloshing copper pot onto the stove. “Mother is much too formal.”

 Tom glanced around at the ingredients cluttering the cutting board. “Right, well, at least you know who I am today.” Wormwood, asphodel, Valerian roots, sopophorus beans… His air of superiority slipped. He balled his hands into fists, reverting back into childhood. “Bloody hell, Mummy, are you concocting another sleeping draught?”

 “Mind your words, Tom. You’re not too large that I can’t put you over my knee,” she warned him, holding up a wooden spoon threateningly. She dropped it into the pot and grabbed up a large butcher knife. “Get another, will you? Help me squeeze the juice from these beans.”

 Standing there in his skivvies with a wand sticking out of the back of his briefs, Tom sighed as he reached into the utensil drawer to retrieve another knife. There was no use trying to get the woman back into bed and being no slouch when it came to preparation, Tom sidled in next to his mother and began the tedious act of bean crushing. Merope poured a glass of brandy, handing it to him. He was more than happy to accept it; anything to dull the uncomfortable atmosphere between them.

 “This one’s a lot stronger than the last batch, and there’s nothing new about it. The recipe is ages old. Pick up the pace, Tom, the roots are ready,” Merope told him firmly. Her demeanour, while buzzing, had shifted to exacting concentration while she worked. If only she could stay half as focused when dealing with everyday events, life would be grand, Tom thought.

 “I heard my baby moaning earlier. I went to his room to check on him, he wasn’t there.” Merope was watching Tom squirm beside her. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “He’s in your bed again.”

 _Stop judging me, witch_ …

 Tom swallowed back his pride and slid the knife along the wooden cutting board to catch the majority of the juice. He measured it in a spoon, keeping his restraint in check. “Is this enough?”

 She nodded and cocked her head back toward the stove. “Add it slowly, please. I don’t want the house to come down on top of us.” Tom snickered at the idea of a house dropping on top of her, but her next comment froze him solid. “Tom, are you and Harry making babies?”

 “Er…” he gaped. “Men can’t have babies together, Mummy.”

 “Oh!” she exclaimed, and pink rose from her neck to cover her cheeks in blotches. Her expression grew curious as she stood in silence for a moment. “Tom, if you’re not making babies, why else would you two be doing that? You know… that.”

 Her innocent question tore Tom’s heart straight in two. For the first time in his life he saw something so different about this woman. She was innocent. Everything that had happened between her and Morfin could not have been her fault. He frowned with remorse, cursing himself for being so blind when realising that she had never known what it was like to be truly loved. “Mummy…”

 “Never mind, I don’t want to know.” She handed him a cup of chopped leaves. “Add that in one at a time until the liquid begins to rise to a boil. Begin stirring counter-clockwise six times, clockwise on the seventh until it turns deep purple. Got it?”

 He gripped the spoon, nodding. A sound caught his attention. He looked up at the ceiling, sure he had heard something. “Did you…”

 “Yes, it’s Harry,” Merope stated sadly, setting her work down and wiping her hands on her apron. Tom started to turn but she stopped him, placing her hands on his shoulders. “Add this cup here only after the liquid stops giving off the blue steam. Keep stirring how I told you until the potion turns clear as water. I’ll tend to him.”

 

* * *

Harry awoke again covered in the standard layer of cold sweat. His throat was dry and raw, his eyes wet with unshed tears. He attacked his pillow, punching it several times to get his frustrations out until the sounds of footsteps ascending the stairs caught his attention. He scrubbed his face, hating Tom seeing him so weak. He was stronger than this; he would learn that damned Occlumency if it killed him. “I’m fine,” he hissed as the door creaked open.

 Pulling a tattered letter from her apron pocket, Merope glided into the room and sat down on the bed. She placed her hand on the boy’s forehead, feeling the clammy skin under her palm. “I found this in the rubbish.” She held the letter up in front of him, frowning. “Why did you throw it away?”

 Harry pulled away, covering his face with his pillow. “Go back to bed, mummy.” Even without his glasses on Harry knew what she was holding. “I can’t return to school and I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

 Taking him into her arms, Merope began to rock back and forth to sooth away his worries. She combed her fingers through his tousled hair, dragging her nails along his scalp. Harry sighed contently. It felt so wonderful to be reunited with his mother. She was safe with them, with Tom for protection. No one could beat him in a duel. No one was as smart or as cunning. No one had ever dared to defy him.

 “You mustn’t let Morfin see you crying when he gets home. You know how upset he gets.” Harry flinched. It wasn’t worth explaining anymore. Merope had fallen into her own little world and nothing was going to change that. The best healers in the Wizarding World had treated her. She was about as good as it got.

 Harry put on a brave smile. He even chuckled. “I suppose I’ve been a bit distracted about my dismal failure at learning Occlumency. I nearly forgot that school starts up tomorrow,” he lied. The matter never left him. He shrugged helplessly in her arms as he looked into her fluttering eyes. “It doesn’t matter; Tom says he’ll teach me everything I need to know that I haven’t already learned.”

 Merope scowled so uncharacteristically. “Oh, how kind of him to determine what you learn. Lovely how he’s got all our futures planned out for us.”

 “I don’t think he means it that way,” Harry confessed. If she knew the truth about their troubles, she might not feel as bitter. He wanted to break down and tell her about the two men who had threatened them. Why shouldn’t he? What could it hurt? “Mummy,” he asked her, “have you ever heard of Lord Voldemort?” He blanched as he watched her turn her head to bury her face in her hands. “You have…”

 She nodded uncomfortably, shifting Harry from her lap in order to stand. “He’s visited me in hospital before. He had hoped I could assist Tom with rearing you properly after destroying you. I wasn’t a very good mother.”

 Harry’s eyebrows disappeared into his fringe. “He bloody fucking said that to you?”

 “I’ve made a lot of mistakes, Harry,” she admitted through a fresh wave of weeping, not hearing his slew of curses. Her body shook, her chin quivered. She stood with her hands covering her eyes, ashamed at what she had done.

 Harry grabbed for his glasses and leapt out of bed. He gathered the defeated woman in his arms, guiding her back to her bedroom. “Come on,” he said softly, tucking her into her cosy bedding. “No one’s perfect, mummy. And for what it’s worth, I wouldn’t change a moment of time spent with you.” He kissed her forehead and rubbed the tears away from her cheeks. “Go to sleep.”

 “I love you, Harry,” she mumbled, already drifting off into slumber.

 Closing the door, Harry took the steps three at a time and landed in the receiving room with a thud. “Tom?” he called, spotting the light under the kitchen door.

 “In here,” Tom called. “I’m all bubbly and sweaty – just the way you like me.”

 Harry pushed through the swinging door and inhaled the calming vapours clouding the room. Through a haze of blue he watched his brother sip from a wineglass and beam at him with lecherous desire. Tom’s eyes roamed slowly over the undressed form, paying particular notice to the slight line of dark hair starting under Harry’s navel and disappearing into his pants. He turned the stove off. “Mm, come here, love.”

 Harry scrunched his nose furiously as he stepped closer. “That’s all you ever think about.” Of course, he did, too, but the image of Voldemort harassing his mother could not be shaken off this time. “That man has gone to see her. He’s told me in dreams that if we don’t do what he says that he’ll kill her! We need to tell someone.”

 “Don’t worry on it,” Tom said calmly, petting his hair. “I’m taking care of everything.”

 Harry smacked his hand away. “You promised me, goddammit.”

 “I know,” Tom sighed, letting his tired eyes hood a little more.

 The scent of water lilies hung heavy in the air. Amortentia. It was everywhere, clinging to every surface of the white-tiled kitchen. He smiled as his body drooped and leaned into Harry. He pressed his mouth over his. “You always worry too much,” he whispered against Harry’s pursed lips in a husky voice that smelled distinctly of cherry brandy. He dropped the spoon into the pot and took the boy into his arms, pulling him closer. “You’re so fucking sexy.”

 “You have no couth,” Harry whispered back, irritated with himself for getting aroused when he should be chastising Tom. Grumbling, he slid a hand under his brother’s tee-shirt, pinching his nipple hard between his finger and thumb until Tom yelped with sobriety. “Try and pay attention, alright?”

 “I am paying attention… to you.” He yanked Harry’s hand out of his shirt and twisted his arms up behind his back, pinning their bodies together in the process. “I told you to stop dwelling on these problems. I’m going to work something out.”

 With Tom’s lips attached to his throat, Harry groaned. “Stop that.”

 His breathing hastened, but he didn’t physically protest. Tom continued to lick and suck on the skin, ignoring him.

 “I haven’t bathed yet,” Harry said, rasping. “I’m a mess.”

 Tom nipped at his earlobe, catching it between his teeth. “You smell good to me.”

 It sent delicious chills riveting through Harry’s body. He dropped his head on Tom’s chest, nuzzling his nipple with his nose. “We should get back to bed. I’m cold.”

 “Not to me you’re not, you’re burning up,” Tom hissed. He growled like a predator, clutching both of Harry’s wrists with one hand. The other began a journey along the small of his back. Fingers sank beneath the elastic of his underpants.

 Harry’s eyes widened. “What are you doing?” he gasped, arching his back through the prodding intrusion. His legs slipped apart, moving with a mind of their own. “We’re in the kitchen!”

 “‘m aware of that, git.” Fingers slid along the smooth expanse of skin. He began moulding, kneading the supple flesh under his palm. They called for breath and ground their bodies as one, driving their arousals fully hard. Harry was completely helpless, protesting like a ruffled kitten and loving every minute of it. Tom had him by the scruff. “I’m about to throw you over this counter here and have my way with you.”

 Tom’s wand hit the ground and rolled under the stove while he slipped his and Harry’s pants down over their hips. Harry had busied himself, wetting the fabric of Tom’s shirt, mapping the dark outline of the areola with his tongue. He put his lips on it, sucking it into his mouth and hearing nothing that was said.

 Amused at his lack of resistance to being stripped, Tom smirked. “Or I could drop you on the stove, light a fire under your arse. Your pick.”

 “Hmm?” Harry’s playful yes darted upward, locking onto Tom’s. He bit down on the wet fabric, catching his nipple in his teeth. “Say again?”

 Getting Harry all hot and bothered always stayed the anxiety for a short period of time. The fragrant aroma lingering all around them seemed to help. Tom felt completely at ease as he pulled Harry up and dropped him onto the counter, taking his face in his hands to kiss his trembling lips. “I said I love you,” he whispered, pulling back.

 “You did not, you Veela,” Harry huffed, running his tongue along the potion drenching his lips. He wiggled around on the counter top under Tom’s vicious ticking fingers, desperate not to give in too quickly. He grabbed his hands up, holding them solid. “Tom, listen to me for a second, please. I have to know that you’ll protect her.”

 Tom sighed. “What are you talking about?”

 “Don’t you listen?”

 “No,” Tom confessed, shrugging. “What are you on about? Protect who?”

 “Mummy,” Harry snapped. He folded his arms over his bare chest, pouting. “I’m not going any farther until you promise.”

 A strong sense of anger began to swell within Tom’s chest. It was not caused by his typical bout of low self esteem or whether someone looked at Harry with bedroom eyes. It was pure and fiery and had never reared its ugly head until this very moment. Someone, Lord Voldemort, had threatened his mother. This was his mother; the woman who raised him and Harry as best she could. Tom’s jaw set. “How do you know he’s threatened her?”

 Harry fell into Tom’s embrace, stymied. “She told me upstairs he came to see her in St. Mungo’s.”

 Lifting Harry’s chin to look deeply into the soft-green pools of hope, Tom nodded. “Then she’s not going back there.”

 Harry nearly fell off of the counter from fear of fainting. “You promise?” he squeaked, allowing Tom to resume in retracing his previous endeavours. He turned to butter under the firm touches, the breath on his neck. Their bodies moved together, becoming one. Harry fell back against the counter, gripping the edge above his head. He sighed with content as his eyes fluttered closed. “Thank you, Tom.”

 “For you, Harry,” Tom purred, dragging his fingers down the length of his stomach. “It’s all for you.”

 

* * *

Through the dark white of the winter snow, the yellow haze of street lamps began to extinguish one by one. Augustus Rookwood gripped the sloped railing as he swivelled on a heel to knock at the door. His misty breath fogged the colour-stained glass of the crescent window. “He’s here! Tom, he’s here, open up!”

 “Ooh, I’ll get it!” Harry exclaimed, leaping from his seat and clamouring over the half-sleeping brood hindering his path. A chorus of grunts and groans spilt out into the reception room, awakening Tom from his last chance at slumber.

 “Bloody hell, Harry!” He stood up and tripped hard over a sleeping Nott, falling flat on his face. “Do not open that door!” he cried. The pounding on the door grew louder, and Harry’s excited panting stilled as he gripped the knob. His kelly-green eyes stopped on Tom. He waited, gritting his teeth, for the word. Tom scrambled to step over the wiggling forms situated all around the small carpeted floor as delicately as possible. “Just look outside, tell me if you can see him first.”

 Harry jumped up and swiped at the window glass. “It’s all fogged up. Fucking Merlin’s beard, Rookwood, move your arse!” he shouted. “I can’t see!”

 “Let-me-in!” Rookwood shouted irately.

 Tom waved his wand to clear the fug from the glass. “Really, Augustus, I can’t see through your head,” he murmured eagerly. All of the street lamps had been snuffed out. Only the moon gave off any semblance of light. Tom threw the door open and darted out of the way, letting Rookwood scurry inside to find a good hiding place.

 Taking a brave step onto the stoop and with Harry at his side, Tom held his wand up. “–Lumos!— Is that you? Show yourself!” he called, feeling the tingle of worry begin to trickle down his spine.

 Harry held his wand out threateningly, repeating the light-giving incantation under his breath. “I don’t see a thing,” he whispered, nudging Tom’s left side. Behind them, a group of edgy friends huddled together to peek out past the two boys. The ominous sound of heavy footsteps dominated the quiet street. Harry started, spotting a large shadow take form at the end of the path leading up to the manor. “Oh, Tom, look!” he hissed, and dashed from the stoop with the will of a freight train.

 Dropping his wand hand to his side, Tom exhaled his anxiety. His lip curled in a sneer. “Hagrid, what are you doing here?” he growled, watching Harry hop around and fawn all over the half-giant as he came into the light of their stoop. “Where’s Dumbledore?”

 Placing his Put-Outer back in his pocket, Albus Dumbledore appeared from behind the large boy. He smoothed his gingery beard as he made his way toward Tom and his gaggle of supporters, smiling like a Cheshire-cat. He held out a hand, taking Tom’s. “Always a pleasure,” he said, and dipped his head at the others. He looked back at Tom, who was currently ushering everyone clogging the door back into the house. “Have I interrupted a gathering?”

 Harry and Rubeus reached the stoop, both brimming with happiness. “Hello again, Professor,” he said with cheerful greetings, taking Albus’s outstretched hand. “Thank you so much for coming – and bringing Hagrid along with!”

 “Everyone was just a bit anxious about any news you may have gathered,” Tom said, blushing. The crowd retreated, allowing the tall wizard to enter the home. _Everyone wants to know if they’ve signed their death warrants by trusting you and are they going on a one-way trip to Azkaban_. “We can talk alone in the den,” he added.

 Harry pulled Hagrid through the door soon after, pointing toward the back of the large, plain receiving room. “Let’s go downstairs and let them talk.”

 “Righ’O,” Rubeus chirped. Antonin Dolohov and a few other boys followed them. Rookwood, Mulcibur, and Avery stayed firmly at Tom’s side.

 The two tallest wizards walked through the room and entered the den, while the others waited at the door. “Please, sir, have a seat,” Tom directed the older man. He shrugged at the other boys and closed the door, sealing them out. Never one to lose control of his emotions, he felt sick inside from holding everything in. The last six months had been gruelling, filled with threats and nightmares from his older self. They had no choice in the matter, they had to tell someone.

 Summoning a service of tea from the kitchen, Tom offered the old professor a cup and took to his chair opposite of him. The cosy warmth of the fireplace at their side lit the room in a friendly glow, easing his trembling fingers as he poured the tea into the cup. “When I got your message, I have to admit I grew worried,” he began, and handed Albus a plate of biscuits. “Harry made them for you,” he added.

 “Lovely,” Dumbledore chimed, grabbing three of the chocolate monstrosities up. “Let’s start where we left off last time. I do believe that Harry would be very safe back in Hogwarts under my protection, and that your mother would fair a lot better at home with you.”

 Tom shook his head defiantly. “Harry stays here.”

 “And your mother? You can’t keep these boys guarding her at all times; they need to move on with their lives. This safe house is under the Fidelius Charm. He will never find you here, I promise you that. I cannot promise that protection in St. Mungo’s, however.”

 “She’s staying, too. That…that man has been haunting her at the asylum. We worry, he’s threatened Harry with taking her life. I can’t afford to let either of them out of my sight now. Merlin knows Harry would run off in a heartbeat if he thought that monster had her.”

 “I see,” Albus said. “Then let us start at this point. I need to know everything, Tom. Show me.”

 And after swallowing his pride because he had no where else to turn, Tom pulled his wand free and pressed the tip of it to his temple. He looked into Dumbledore’s eyes, knowing there was no turning back once the man saw everything. “Get ready, you’re in for a nasty ride.”

 

* * *

After three hours, Harry grew tired of waiting for any word. Mulcibur, Avery, and Rookwood had drifted into the lower part of the safe house over an hour back from sleepiness, and collapsed in a heap near the others. Hagrid was snoring soundly beside him. The cold northern dwelling held little insulation. It was smallish, bare, and reminded him of Little Hangelton in some crude way. When it rained, water seeped in through the roof to puddle on the wooden floorboards. It was cheap and Unplottable, and that’s what mattered. Tom could not touch his money in Gringotts for fear of being traced, and they needed a place to stay that could not be linked to them. The only reason they stayed there was that Tom and he did not know where they were. The young men, formally Death Eaters, procured it and moved the brothers in without letting them know where they were.

 No longer calling themselves Death Eaters, the gang of young men that had come to their aid was astonishing. There was a great worry about Tom’s confession to Dumbledore, at first, but nerves were calmed and jitters set aside once confidence had been gained. The information was locked inside Tom’s head, Dumbledore was certain,

* * *

 

**And that’s that. If anything, I hope if you read this that it helps clear up anything I might have confused you with. If not send me a PM if you want to know. Happy Valentine’s Day all!**


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